


The Terrifying Axeman of New Orleans

by icantwritegood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, because that's one of the best tropes out there, fight me, i got em, i try my best, inspector!shane, insults?, journalist!ryan, many axes, might get a lil grisly but that be how it be, they beefin, they both think the other is the murderer, they gots beef, witty one liners?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:49:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: Ryan Bergara is the respected and renowned editor-in-chief of the NOLA Times-Picayune, and a murder is a goldmine for journalism. A string of murders? Priceless. But a certain inspector from Chicago is adamant that the media not whip the public into a frenzy while he tries to solve this case.And when their suspicions of each other start mounting, shit will hit the fan.





	1. The corner of Dorgenois and Laharpe

**Author's Note:**

> it's the 1920s y'all but there's no way I'm busting my ass to change any slang or anything so here ya go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not one, but two murders in twenty-four hours? It would've been like Christmas for a journalist. If there wasn't a journalist-hating cop, of course.

Ryan flipped through the photos, standing at his desk. The lamp was glowing beside him, due to the fact it was almost midnight. And he was still working. What a surprise. "Wow. This... is not pretty."

"Yeah, they weren't very nice to take either."

"Brent let you in?"

"As you said he would."

"Perfect." Ryan squinted at the gory photo in his hand. "Their heads are like soup."

"They both had their heads bashed in _and_ their throats cut with a razor." Helen lifted up one of the photos on the desk, handing it to him. "And he left the shit he used there. In their rooms!"

Ryan whistled through his teeth, placing the photos down on his desk. "These are gold, Helen. They're perfect. Send them on to layout." He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. "And anything, um, _interesting?_ "

She gave him a disapproving scowl. "Even though I felt extremely bad about doing it, yes, I took something." She moved to his desk, slipping something wrapped in a tissue onto it. "It's the razor. It was almost impossible to take a photo of because the lighting was shit, so I thought 'why not'."

Ryan grinned at her, picking up the tissue. "This is great! I know it feels bad at the beginning, but that's the price for good journalism, right?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you're a bad person. Brent would be so upset if he found out you broke one of his rules!"

"He won't find out!"

She sighed heavily, giving him yet another disapproving look. "You should hope so. Anyway, I'm going to head on down to layout. Want me to steal you something from there as well?"

"Ha ha." He sat back down at his desk, leaning down to pop the tissued treasure into his jacket pocket. "Thank you, Helen."

She wandered out of his office, flipping through the photos in her hand, disgusted noises included. Ryan sat back down at his desk, opening up the file brimming with proposed articles on the murder. He skimmed the pages, wincing at some of the details. The wife had been almost entirely decapitated. Nothing had been stolen. The bottom panel of the kitchen door had been knocked out. Murder weapons left beside the bodies (apart from the razor, of course). But the strangest was the fact that the husband's brothers had been present in the house when the murder happened, and they hadn't heard a single thing. How does one murder two people without being heard?

He was lucky he was in with the local police. The murders of Catherine and Joseph Maggio had only happened that morning, so early that it had technically been midnight, and they almost had a full article on the event already. The police let him and his team wander in and out of crime scenes as they wished, as long as they didn't contaminate anything. They could snap photos, ask questions, do anything they wanted really, all before other media sources were alerted. It was this connection that made the Times Picayune was it was. And it was all Ryan's. He'd busted his ass to get to where he was, but he was there, and he didn't plan on slipping back down anytime soon.

His desk phone rang shrill and sharp, for the split second it took him to pick it up. "Bergara speaking. Oh hey, Brent. Mmmhmm. What? Holy- Yeah, I'll be right there! Thanks. Bye."

He threw the phone back down on the hook as he got to his feet, snatching up everything he might need like a claw machine on cocaine. Another murder already? God, it was _exciting_. He'd have to drive more carefully, this time. Not be so hasty. He'd almost rammed into another driver the night before in his rush to get to the first murder. Although he still stood by his statement that the guy had cut him off. And had then proceeded to flip him off. Ryan had slammed the horn, a nice long deafening beep, before returning the gesture. 

_So yeah, drive more carefully this time, Bergara._

* * *

 

It was a nice warm night, the trees that lined the road rustling gently in the heated breeze. It would've been the perfect night to sit on your porch and relax. This house's porch wasn't being used for such leisurely activities, however. It was brimming with police and nurses alike, the door wide open as people scurried in and out. 

Brent approached his car before the vehicle had even stopped, hurrying over with his shoulders hunched, like a schoolkid who had just been scolded by their teacher. "Hey, Ryan. Bad news."

Ryan closed his car door, hearing Helen getting out on the other side. "Hm? What's wrong?"

"You have to go."

Ryan blinked; this was highly unusual. "I have to what?"

"I know, man, but... we have this new lead investigator. He flew in from Chicago this morning." Brent shrugged apologetically, glancing back over his shoulder at the bustling cops across the road. "He's... He's a little bit difficult. But he's insisting that no media personnel be let onto the crime scenes."

"What?" Helen joined them, her camera hanging proud around her neck. "Why not?"

"He said- Hey, Ryan, where are you going?"

"To talk him over," he replied over his shoulder, heading towards the humming front lawn. "Like I did with you. Duh."

He ignored Brent's shouts just as easily as he ignored the 'crime scene' tape, ducking under it with the nonchalance of an activity frequently done. He recognized almost every cop there. Why wouldn't he? They nodded at him as he passed by, or openly smiled, or threw him a friendly hello. He and Helen were at these things almost as often as the police themselves were, after all. But Ryan was too distracted to return the greetings, his eyes fixed on the tall man striding across the lawn towards the front door of the house, parting cops and nurses alike, as if he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. He was the one truly unfamiliar individual here, with his trench coat and slouch hat, looking every part the haughty big-town detective. 

"Excuse me." Ryan finally caught up with him, tapping his shoulder. "I just wanted to- son of a bitch."

" _What_ did you just say?" The man stared down at him, eyebrows knotted. "Who the hell are you?"

He may not have recognized Ryan, but Ryan most definitely recognized him. And even though he could almost feel the road rage bubbling back up inside him, he knew he couldn't fuck this particular conversation up. "Sorry. Nothing. Uh, my name is Ryan Bergara. I'm the editor-in-chief of the-"

"No." The man cut him off - huh, again - with a quick shake of his head. "Media? Out. Go away."

"If I could just-"

"I said no, guy. No media personnel, capeesh?"

Ryan hurried to join him as he continued moving towards the house. "Just let me explain-"

"The media is not allowed onto any crime scene I'm involved in from this day forwards to avoid the public being whipped up into a frenzy," replied the man in a low, clipped voice, not even looking at Ryan. "I won't have you and your little team of idiots poking around, contaminating evidence, swinging your cameras around like your work is actually important." He left the speechless Ryan on the bottom step of the porch, pausing to look back down at him. "I really don't think I can make myself any clearer, so get gone."

Ryan ignored the gossiping cops pushing past him, back and forth and back and forth, endless. "It's my job to keep the public informed. I'm going to do that."

"No, you're not. You'll just make the town panic."

"Perhaps the town should be panicking," shot back Ryan, his hands in his pockets clenched into fists. "Since this is the second murder in twenty-four hours and the police have nothing on any potential murderers. Perhaps they're too busy trying to cause car crashes."

"I-" For a moment the lead investigator just stared at him, an expression like he'd just been slapped across the face. "I know you."

"Yeah, I know you too, asshole." 

The investigator moved back down to join him on the bottom step, taking his hat off as he did so, revealing tousled, messy hair. Perhaps he wasn't so nice and made-up after all. "You're the little jerk who almost drove right into me."

" _You're_ the guy who cut me off at a red light."

"It had just turned red, I didn't see it. You were driving over the limit, on the other hand."

"Barely."

"The limit is the limit, 'Ryan Bergara'." He said his name as if he doubted it was even his real one, an eyebrow arched. "Now as much as I'm enjoying this, uh, pleasant conversation, I have work to be doing. And you have a crime scene to be leaving. So here's to hoping you don't almost kill anyone else with your car, hm?"

"You don't have the right to turn me away. It's the law."

"Is that so?"

"That is so," replied Ryan firmly, arms folded across his chest. "Myself and my partner have our identifications on display. Our car isn't in the way of any police activity. In fact, we have the right to enter the property as long as we-"

"Don't try and lecture me on the law, pal. You're not allowed in due to it being a specific request from the victims."

Ryan paused, mouth hanging open. "Huh?"

"They're still alive, idiot." 

For a second, Ryan looked as if he was about to continue talking, continue trying to get into the house. Instead, he turned away with an irritated 'tut', storming back towards the street. Some of the cops looked confused to see him leaving quite so early. He could see Helen waiting at the tape, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"How did it go?" she called.

He shook his head, lifting up the tape to pass back under. "The new guy's a total dickhead."

"Yeah... He's still watching you."

Ryan glanced back up the driveway at the house. She was right. The investigator was simply standing in the middle of the porch, hands in his pockets, staring at the two journalists. Ryan raised a hand, giving a big sarcastic wave, just to let the man know he could see him. The investigator reluctantly turned away, disappearing into the house. The simple act itself had Ryan seething with envy. He wanted in that house. Badly.

"Well, that's a bummer." Helen sighed wearily. "What the hell do we do now? I can't remember the last time I went to a public media opening."

"The victims are still alive," muttered Ryan as they crossed the street towards the car. "They apparently asked for no media to come in. I call bullshit. I'd say they're on the way to the hospital already."

"Why do you say that?"

"Did those nurses look particularly panicked to you?" Ryan stopped by the car, glancing back at the scene. "There's no way there's two heavily injured people in there. He just doesn't want us in."

"I don't like that look on your face," she said, stepping in to block his view of the house. "What are you planning?"

"Just... Hear me out." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You let me off around the corner, I hop out, I sneak into the scene, and I get some pictures."

"No, absolutely not."

"Listen, I saw Brent go around the back. He'll let me in!"

"Ryan..."

"It'll be fine! I used to do it all the time!"

"Just- Fine." She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "But I'm going to say 'I told you so' in advance, so, I told you so."

 

* * *

 

 

The back gardens were separated by low metal chain-link fences that shook ever so slightly as Ryan climbed over them. Jeez, the people around here really loved their foliage. Bushes covered the ground, trees loomed overhead, their dark branches like black bolts of lightening against the purple sky. Ryan could still hear the murmuring of the crime scene, just ahead of him, the sounds low and rumbling, like they were enclosed in a glass box. They sounded as if they were far away, as if he was on a boat in the middle of a dark sea, and they were having an extravagant party across the lake. And he was alone in his own bubble of silence. Ryan stayed low, suddenly feeling a lot more anxious than he had been. Do murderers usually hang around crime scenes? He hadn't even thought about the fact that the killer could still be lurking, waiting to claim his next victim. He picked up the pace ever so slightly as he crept towards the back garden of the house.

Just as he had expected, Brent was at the back door, hands on his hips. Waiting.

"Brent!" Ryan waved a hand, watching the windows for any unfamiliar faces. "Over here!"

"Jesus Christ, Ryan, you scared the shit out of me!" The cop moved closer to the fence, trying to remain inconspicuous. "Right, here's the deal. Madej is heading back to the station in a few minutes. I can let you in then, but you have to be quick."

"Madej?"

"Shane Madej. That's his name."

"The investigator?"

"Yeah."

"He's an ass."

"Tell me about it." Brent shrugged, moving back to the door. "That's all I can offer right now, okay?"

"That's perfect. I'll, uh, I'll wait here. I guess." He waited in silence for a moment. "Why is he here?"

"Hm?"

"Shane Madej. You said he came in from Chicago."

"Right." Brent glanced at the back door, leaning sideways to make sure he could see that it was empty. "Right, these murders are almost identical to the ones from last night. As you'll see in a few minutes. It's looking like it could become a serial killer deal. The Department requested a more experienced guy to come in, and since Shane was in town already, they brought him in."

"A serial killer?"

"Yeah. But Ryan, listen to me when I tell you this." He poked his head in the back door again, just to make sure, before heading back over to Ryan's hiding spot. "Do not let Madej know it's me giving you these tip-offs, or he'll- he'll-"

"I won't!" Ryan gave him a thumbs up before ducking back into the bushes. "I never have, right?"

"He'd straight-up kill me, Ryan! He's that kind of guy!"

"He's not that scary."

"You've had one conversation with him, and you were allowed to talk back." 

"And? Here I am."

"Yeah, hiding in the trees out the back."

Ryan scowled at him from behind the leaves; he could see Brent through the leaves, but the cop couldn't see him. "I'm not scared of him. I just don't want-"

"Shh!"

Ryan shut up instantly as Brent was joined on the back porch by none other than Shane Madej himself. At first it seemed he was oblivious to Brent's presence as he searched through the pockets of his jacket.The lead investigator took out a box of cigarettes, lighting one up, the flame illuminating his sharp face. Ryan got as low as he could; he could still see the two cops through the dense leaves. For once he was glad he was so compact. The silence went on for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the people inside, and the occasional low crackle of the cigarette burning itself up.

"You talk to yourself often?" asked Shane suddenly, still staring into the dark shadows of the back garden. 

Brent swallowed, shaking his head. "No. Uh, yes. Sir."

"Funny. Apparently that's an early sign of insanity." Shane's gaze began trailing over the surrounding bushes as he slowly wandered across the porch, shoes clacking against the wood. "I saw you talking to that journalist earlier. Why was that?"

Ryan swallowed as the searching gaze passed over his hiding spot, feeling himself relax as the investigator stayed silent. He'd been totally unaware that he'd even been so tense. 

"He's an old friend," replied Brent after some time.

"Right. He seemed to think he could just wander in here and do as he liked. I'll be honest and say I didn't like him. He was very, uh, irritating to me. Nosy. I hate nosy." Shane came to a halt beside the cop, offering him the box of cigarettes. "Smoke?"

"No. Thanks."

"I'm not going to insult your intelligence and pretend that I don't know it's you who's been giving the guy the all-clear to, uh, have a free-for-all at the crime scenes." Shane raised his eyebrows, gesturing at him with his cigarette. "I'm going to give you one chance to stop. One. Because I'm not here to be an asshole, contrary to popular belief. I'm just here to get this situation under control. You sure you don't want one?"

"No, I don't smoke."

"Huh. I thought I saw you having one outside the station earlier."

"Well, I do someti-"

"So you lied to me. That's strike two."

Brent went silent, eyes wide. "I- Uh, I didn't-"

"Mm. I don't like liars, Bennett."

Ryan wanted to hop out of the bushes and flatten this stupid Shane Madej. Who the hell did he think he was? He could almost feel Brent's panic.

"I'm being very generous here, okay? It's very rare I'd give someone a chance to redeem themselves. Don't waste it." Shane dropped the cigarette onto the porch, strolling back to the door. "Stub that out for me, yeah?"

What an absolute dickhead. Ryan could already feel the inevitability of what was going to happen buzzing through his veins.

This was going to get _personal_.


	2. An Impromptu Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Shane Madej acting suspicious, or he is just a massive jerk? Ryan isn't quite sure.

The desk was cool under his fingers as he tapped out an agitated rhythm. He was apprehensive. About various things, as he tended to be. This was the first piece he'd written himself in a long time. Publishing the article had been a risk, he knew it right from the start. He'd defied the closest thing to an official warning he'd ever gotten. His eyes scanned the page; _Axeman Strikes Again_. Written by Ryan Bergara. Photography by Ryan Bergara. He wasn't quite sure why he had appointed himself to write it.

Well actually, he was.

Firstly, hearing that Shane Madej talk shit about him, and then hearing him terrorize Brent, had pissed him off _very_ much. Perhaps to such an extent that Ryan had put a little bit more effort than usual into every single aspect of the article, and had stayed up basically all night, till the sun was peeking through the blinds. Now he was just waiting. Waiting for the explosion that was sure to come any time soon, once one of the cops had picked up the paper. It was like waiting for a punch, not knowing the direction from which it would come.

Secondly, if it was only his name under the article, his team would hopefully be protected from the storm that was guaranteed to come. In fact, it sounded as if it was coming any second now. 

"Ryan, I tried to- He wouldn't let me stop him!"

Ryan glanced up, taking a deep calming breath as the receptionist hurried into the office, all panic. She looked as if she'd just ran a marathon. "What is it?" As if he didn't know full well exactly what it was.

"He's coming!" she hissed, glancing back at the door. "The investigator!"

 _Ah_. Ryan sat back in his chair, chucking the file in his hand back onto the desk. _Here we go_.

"Move, lady." Shane Madej swept into the office, a whirlwind of fury, striding right towards Ryan's desk. "How the hell did you get these photos?"

The impact of the newspaper hitting the desk blew the other pages off it, the file Ryan had been reading fluttering to the floor. Ryan got to his feet, nodding at the receptionist to scarper. This could get messy.

"And the information," continued Shane, clearly livid, pushing the newspaper towards Ryan. The image of the bloodied bed was clear on the front pages. _Axeman Strikes Again_. "Axeman? Serial killing? Anna's death in hospital? Louis' survival? How the fuck did you find all this out?"

"It's not my fault the police force are bordering on incompetent," replied Ryan icily. 

"Stop writing this shit."

"This is my job."

"I don't give a fuck. End this. Today."

Ryan straightened up, hands on his hips. "And if I don't?"

Shane stared at him for a moment, a mix of disbelief and seething rage on his face. "This is a federal investigation, you idiot. I will not have you causing hysterics around the town just so you'll get paid."

"That's not why we do what we do here. We do this so the public know exactly what's going on around them."

"I will _not_ have you disrupting my team during this investigation!"

"Then you best get to solving some crimes, perhaps? Instead of coming in here, giving me hell just for doing my job." He could see people gathering outside the office doors at the sounds of their raised voices. Great! An audience.

Shane laughed sharply, raising his eyebrows. "You think this is me giving you hell? You have no idea."

"No, _you_ have no idea!"

"How's your television licence?"

Ryan blinked. "It's fine."

"Really? What about your health insurance?"

Oh. Oh, he saw where this was going. "Completely up-to-date."

"Car insurance?"

"Perfect."

"Rent payments?"

"Amazing."

"You better hope to God they are, pal." Shane leaned across the desk, lowering his voice to a spiteful whisper, aware of the crowd observing the scene. "Because if you ever even fall an hour behind payments, I'll be there. I'll be on you in seconds. I'll come at you like a- like a-"

"And you'll do what?" replied Ryan heatedly. He could see a few people slyly sticking their heads in the door, trying to hear what the two men were saying. "Fine me twenty bucks?"

"I'll have you behind bars before you even know it."

"Oh yeah? You'll throw me in jail for traffic violation? Because I'll probably see you in there."

"I didn't see the red light!" Shane took a deep breath, exhaling long and loud. "Don't try me, pal."

Ryan held the inspector's stony glare, sitting back down in his seat. "For future reference, if you don't like an article, you can just write a letter. _Officer_."

Shane was staring at him, an almost shocked look on his face. It was as if his dog had suddenly started speaking English, but had also turned out to be a massive dickhead. "You seem like you care very much for the public. You're an empathetic man, I suppose."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Well then I hope you enjoy the fact that you just got Brent Bennett fired." Shane turned away, leaving Ryan to process this bombshell. The people at the door swiftly went back to pretending they were working, scattering among the corridors.

"Hey, hey, wait a second." Ryan quickly got to his feet, hurrying across the room after him. "Wait!"

"What?" snapped Shane, pausing at the door. "Spit it out."

"It wasn't Brent."

"I'm not an idiot."

"You sure?"

"I-" Shane narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm positive."

"Then go ahead." Ryan shrugged, determined to disguise his utter panic. "Fire him. See what happens."

"Right." The investigator looked away for a second, as if about to depart, before turning back to face him directly. "Elaborate."

"No." Ryan reached past him to close over the door, the silence enveloping the office immediately. "But let me ask you a quick question."

Shane watched him warily, having to tilt his head down to look him in the eye. "One."

"That's all I need." He let the silence linger for a moment, the distant murmuring of the bustling office just outside. "Why did you lie?"

The investigator blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"One of the cops told me you flew in from Chicago yesterday morning," said Ryan, raising an eyebrow as he watched Shane's face stiffen at his words. "But you almost obliterated me with your car two nights ago. Driving around here. In New Orleans. Why did you lie about that?"

"None of your business," replied Shane so sharply Ryan was surprised he wasn't cut in half instantly. "Have you told anyone that."

"I don't see-"

" _Have you told anyone that_."

Ryan's hand drifted to the door handle, his heart jumping under the intensity of the man's stare. "No."

"If you-" Shane moved closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If you tell anyone you saw me, _anyone_ , I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what?" asked Ryan, his grip white-knuckled on the door handle. He'd closed it for privacy, but now he wanted it open for... for something. For safety? For witnesses? Was he in danger right now?

"Just don't." Shane took a deep breath, finally breaking eye contact to look at Ryan's hand on the door. "Are you going to let me out now, or what?"

Ryan immediately opened the door, welcoming the wave of familiar chatter that swept in as he did so. Unfortunately, Shane didn't leave, instead just staring down at him, like Ryan was a riddle he was desperate to find out. 

"You won't tell anyone," said the investigator in a quiet voice. Whether it was a question or a statement, Ryan wasn't sure.

The journalist held his gaze, holding the door open. "Good day, officer."

"Is it?" He stepped outside, throwing one last odd look at him. "Have you ever heard of the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat'?"

Ryan remained in the doorway as the investigator strode off down the hallway at such a rate of knots he almost flattened the accountant, who jumped out of the way at the last second.  

"Yikes." Steven raised his eyebrows at Ryan as he approached his office. "That guy was in a bit of a mood, am I right? But _I'm_ not. And _you_ shouldn't be. Because our sales are already spiking, Ryan! Look at these fucking figures, man!"

"Mhmm. Yeah, wow. That's great." Ryan nodded his head at what he hoped were suitable interjections.

But Steven's voice melted into the background almost instantly as Ryan's thoughts took over, buzzing loudly around his head. Something was beginning to slip into place. Something major. Something that made more and more sense as he thought about it.

Something that made him think perhaps he shouldn't be antagonizing Shane Madej the way he was.

 

* * *

 

Only a few hours later, and he had already ignored his own advice. How could he not have? This twist of events had spread quicker than any tip-off he'd ever received. Partially because he himself had spread it, thinking of the one person who couldn't stand the media as he did so. But mainly because people apparently just couldn't keep it to themselves, which was understandable. So here he was, outside the hospital, leaning against the door of his car to watch the scene unfold. Helen had gone to get the photos; she had a knack for angles and lighting that he just didn't. And he wasn't quite ready to see _him_ again. Especially as this event just added to the already uneasy feeling in the pit of Ryan's stomach.

Louis Besumer, the sole survivor of the most recent attack, had been charged with the murder of his partner, Anna Lowe. It had been put down to a domestic dispute, which had ended with Besumer killing Lowe with an axe, caving her skull in like an egg. And who had filed the charge? Inspector Shane Madej himself, the newest celebrity in town. Yet there had been no explanation offered as to how Besumer had then proceeded to bash his own head in with the axe, too. A description of the murderer was provided by Anna before she finally succumbed to her injuries, too, describing the attacker as a tall white man. Not her husband. It was all very sudden. Rushed, almost. 

A police car pulled up across the road, catching his eye, and the eye of almost every cameraman present. Ryan moved behind the row of photographers, out of the blinding flashes, essentially apart from the chaos of the photographers in front of him. The local superintendent, Sara Rubin, stepped out of the car, followed by a few other cops (one of which being Brent, making Ryan audibly sigh with relief). This relief was short-lived as the tall thin figure of Shane Madej joined them, pulling the brim of his hat down in an attempt to shield his eyes against the aggressive flashing of the cameras. Ryan smiled in satisfaction.

"Superintendent, do you have any comments on the arrest?"

"What made you charge Besumer when there is such little evidence to do so?"

"Comments? Any comments?"

The shouts were wrecking Ryan's head. He bit his lip, feeling the tiniest bit apologetic for putting Brent and Sara through this. Brent had always been nice to him, and Sara was kind and sincere, and understanding of the role of the media. Perhaps he'd been a bit harsh... But these apologetic feelings vanished the instant his eyes landed on the lead investigator's. His anger was palpable, even from this distance. It was the cold sort of anger, the cool, unforgiving one that could linger for years, like a layer of ice covering every word and action of the future. Ryan swallowed as Shane's glare lingered on him, the man seemingly oblivious to every other person there, every flashing camera, as he passed by. 

"Is he looking at you?" Helen appeared beside Ryan, glancing from him to the investigator. "What's his problem? Have your families been feuding for centuries or something?"

Ryan stayed silent, not breathing easy until the cops disappeared into the hospital, where the unfortunate Louis Besumer waited. "It's nothing. Uh, I think I'm going to call it a night."

More pieces were fitting together in his head, a dark puzzle, making him feel both excited and downright terrified. Shane Madej arrives in New Orleans, and proceeds to lie about this early arrival. Two attacks occur. The media are actively discouraged from gathering information. Attacker described as tall and white. And now Louis Besumer was being arrested, by Shane Madej, for the murder of his wife. Despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise.

"Are you alright?" Helen gave him a concerned look, willing him to look at her. "You seem a bit off, man."

"No, I'm good! Just a bit of a headache." He smiled at her, hoping it seemed casual. "See you in the morning, yeah?"

"Okay. Mind yourself, Ryan." She frowned as he crossed the road towards his car; leaving an event like this was extremely odd for him. "Stay safe. There's a murderer out there, remember?"

"I know!" _But is he out there, or is he in the hospital right next to us?_


	3. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fragile deal is made. Suspicions begin to stir.

A week had passed since Louis Besumer's arrest. A week had passed with no attacks. No murders. Nothing. Until today, just as the newest rounds of newspapers were put out. The media were still posting article after article on the 'Axeman', rows of papers simply covered with the same words; _Murder! Danger! Killer! Death!_ Shane stopped by the next newspaper stall, reluctantly picking up the only one that really interested him. Not because of the headline. No, the headline was just the same as all the other papers. It was the small font under the headline that made him pick it up.

 _Edited by Ryan Bergara_.

Shane stared at the name for a moment. Do newspapers work like voodoo dolls? If he stuck a pin through the name, would it do anything? Probably not. He chucked the paper back onto the stall, continuing on across the quiet road to his car, the early morning air nice and crisp. New Orleans was an alright town, he guessed. Not incredibly unlike Chicago. He just hadn't been expecting to be there for more than a day or so, when the first murder happened. He'd been with Esther Pepitone at the time, a wealthy upper-class woman who was concerned for her safety within her own home. He'd been assigned her 'case'. The only reason it was called a case was because she was rich, of course. And she insisted on full anonymity. She was, essentially, a waste of his time.

And now he was caught up in this whole 'Axeman' frenzy. It was quickly becoming evident that a serial killer could be on the loose. He just had to keep this hidden from the public until he'd solved who said serial killer was. And that stupid Ryan Bergara was really making it a lot more difficult than it should be. _And_ he'd seen him in New Orleans that night, coming back from Esther Pepitone's. If that got out, Esther would have him drawn and quartered. She was that type of woman. 

He arrived at the most recent murder scene a few minutes later. The traffic had been basically non-existent thanks to the time. Once again, a quaint house situated on a corner. Every house around here seemed to be nice and quaint, with neat gardens, and an abundance of lovely flourishing trees. Too bad there was some crazed man running around with an axe every few nights. It sort of ruined the tranquility of the place.

"The little girl died." Rubin lead him through the house, showing him the bloodied mess of the bedroom. "Rose and Charles are in hospital, they've just left. Charles was unconscious, Rose was babbling a bit. It wasn't a nice sight."

"I can imagine." He didn't want to look in the red-splattered cot that some medical staff were surrounding. "What type of guy kills a two-year-old baby?"

"I have no idea." She shuddered, her curls bouncing as she did so. "An ax was left, again. Yeah, there it is."

It lay under the window, dark with congealed blood. Shane crouched down beside it, squinting at the stained metal. "Why doesn't everyone just throw out their axes?"

Sara blinked at him. "I- Yeah, I guess you have a point."

"It just seems like the smart thing to do," shrugged Shane, straightening back up again. "But then again, maybe the guy would just start using- Oh for fuck's sake. Who the hell keeps tipping these guys off?"

Sara joined him at the window. "I did."

"What?" Shane turned to stare at her, wide-eyed. "Why? The town is paranoid enough already."

"I only told Ryan. The Times-Picayune just posts facts, not fiction." She gave him a strange look. "The public have the right to know the facts."

"Have you ever dealt with a serial killer?" asked Shane, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well... No, I haven't."

"I have. Two of them. And the main thing that gives them power, that encourages them to continue, is fear. Which is exactly what the media causes." He left the room, shrugging off his coat as he did so; he was suddenly very warm. 

He bumped into the journalist at the front door, standing in the doorway to prevent him from entering. He could feel the eyes of the few cops sticking up the crime scene tape watching him, watching Ryan, watching like it was a television show.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Ryan, gesturing for Helen to stand behind him, as if to protect her. As if Shane posed some sort of physical threat or something. "Move, Shane."

"I told you to stop coming by these things."

"Yeah. You did."

"But you're here anyway."

"I am."

Shane didn't move from the doorway. He knew he couldn't turn the guy away now, not with the fact that the superintendent gave her permission to Ryan. But he could do something else.

"Brent, come here."

The cop hesitantly crossed the lawn, coming to a stop beside the now anxious-looking journalist. "Yeah?"

Shane didn't take his eyes from Ryan's; it was more a message to him than a message to Brent, after all. "You're dropped from the case."

"Bullshit!" Ryan suddenly exploded, making up for Brent's stunned silence. "You can't fucking do that! He didn't do anything!"

"I told you," replied Shane, hands on his hips. "That if you didn't stop-"

"Sara!" Ryan tried to see over the investigator's shoulder, having to instead duck to the side. "Sara, he can't do this! Brent didn't do anything!"

She made an apologetic face, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. "I'm sorry, Ryan, but he can. He's the lead investigator, he can drop who he wants from the case."

"You son of a bitch." Ryan stepped back to stare at the man, a look on his face as if Shane was the devil himself. "You absolute son of a bitch. I should-"

"Come on in," smiled Shane, all mock-politeness as he stood to one side. "Help yourself. Just understand that I'm very much opposed to you being here, and am very reluctant to cooperate."

"I should tell everyone what I saw the other night."

Shane's blood turned to ice. He was suddenly very aware of the amount of people watching the two of them. "You really shouldn't."

"Oh, I think I might." Fucking hell, this guy was stubborn. "In fact I think I'll say it right now. Unless you take back your-"

"You know what? I think we need to have a word." Shane nodded towards the street as he brushed past the smaller man. "In private."

For a moment, he wasn't sure if the journalist would follow. The low murmuring of the cops surrounding the house alerted him otherwise. With a little bit of difficulty, Shane ducked under the tape - he saw it shake out of the corner of his eye as the journalist swiftly followed. For a moment they stood in silence, simply watching each other. Waiting. Shane sniffed, rubbing at his nose. Ryan distractedly rolled up his sleeves, his gaze drifting over the street. It was a nice day. Sunny. The kind of day so crisp and clear it could've been a painting.

Ryan sighed heavily. "So are you going to start yelling now, or...?" 

"First of all, shut up. Second of all, I think-"

"No, _you_ shut up."

" _You_ shut up, you little-" Shane stopped himself, an abrupt ending to whatever insult was fighting to fly out into the open. He closed his eyes. "Okay. Okay, let's try this again. Start over."

"Start over?"

"I think..." Shane bit his lip as he thought of how to phrase his next sentence. He couldn't make it look like an apology, no way. Not even a compromise. He had to make it look like he still had the upper hand. "I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here."

"You think?" replied Ryan dryly. "Come on, just say what you want to say."

Shane paused. "Well, what do you think I want to say?"

"I think you want to subtly beg me not to tell anyone I saw you in New Orleans a full twelve hours before you were supposed to be." Ryan shrugged, a smug look on his face, as if he'd won already. "And I won't. If you take Brent back on."

Fuck. "Listen, Bergara. It is _very_ important to me that you don't tell anyone you saw me."

"I know," replied Ryan in an odd tone, as if someone secretly had a gun trained on him from across the road. "Weirdly important."

Shane gave him a confused frown. "Right. Anyway, perhaps we should discuss our conflicting interests before things get a bit too crazy."

"You didn't want to talk yesterday." Ryan narrowed his eyes up at him. "I wonder what changed."

Why did he look so damn suspicious of him? Shane glanced over his shoulder before turning back to frown at the smaller man. "What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you know something I don't," replied Shane slowly, his own eyes narrowing. " _Do_ you know something I don't?"

The guy raised his eyebrows, as if he had no idea was Shane was talking about. "Hm? What?"

"Just... Whatever." This guy was clearly a total weirdo. "I'm going to make you an offer here. And let me just make one thing clear; I will not compromise on it."

Ryan folded his arms across his chest, an eyebrow raised. "Okay. We'll see."

"You can come to the crime scenes." The words left a sour taste in his mouth as he spoke. "On one condition. You do it through me."

The interest was clear on Ryan's face, despite his best attempts to disguise it. "What do you mean?"

"You don't go to Brent, you don't go to any of the others, and you most certainly do not go to Superintendent Rubin." He pointed at himself. "You go to me. You let me know when you're coming by, and who you're bringing. If I ask, you show me the article before it's posted, and you change what I tell you to cha-"

"I'll listen to your thoughts, but I won't change anything unless I think it should be changed," interrupted Ryan, his tone showing that this was a necessity.

Shane gave him a flat look. "Right. Fine. Furthermore, I will let you know any advances regarding the killings. Personally."

Ryan pursed his lips, giving the man a thoughtful look. "Personally?"

"Yes. And in return for my kindness, you will not tell anyone about seeing me the other night." He extended a hand, arching an eyebrow. "Do we have a deal?"

The journalist contemplated this offer for a moment before taking the hand, giving it a firm shake. "We do."

"Good."

"You're hurting my hand."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"You're squeezing a bit harder than necessary yourself there, pal."

"I didn't notice."

"You're still doing it."

"So are you."

"Then let go."

" _You_ let go."

"Fine." Shane yanked his hand out of the man's tight grip, giving him a scowl. "I see I'll have to be the professional one here."

Ryan rolled his eyes as he turned back to the house. "Sure. You keep telling yourself that."

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Ryan Bergara showed that he at least kept his word. Shane's phone trilled on his desk, so sharp and sudden it made him jump a foot in the air. He quickly stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill, hurrying back to his desk to snatch up the phone.

"Inspector Madej speaking."

"Something arrived this morning." Ryan sucked air in through his teeth, an irritating sound when it was right in your ear. "You'll want to see it."

"Right. I'll be over soon." He dropped the phone back onto the hook, grabbing his hat off the desk and shrugging on his coat as he hurried out the door. He nodded at the receptionist. "I'll be back in a while. Anyone looking for me, I'll be at the Times-Picayune around the corner."

It was, literally, around the corner. Shane took the stone steps two at a time, glancing up at the set of windows he thought were Ryan's office. The journalist gave him a wave, the gesture particularly unenthusiastic. _I'm not too happy either, pal_. The receptionist didn't look to happy to see him again. Perhaps he should apologize for his behavior the last time he'd been in. He had been awful, now that he thought about it.

"I'm sure you can make it to his office yourself," she said in an extremely fake polite tone, not looking up from the typewriter she was tapping away at. "You had no problem last time, after all!"

Shane took off his hat, giving her a wry look. "Yeah, I can show myself in. Thank you."

The journalist's office was just as fancy as he'd remembered it; large windows, multiple crowded bookshelves, a nice big desk made of shiny wood, walls plastered with framed articles and photos. The sun from outside cut through the gaps in the blinds, casting thin bright bars across the room. His own office back in Chicago was almost as nice. The temporary one he had in the station here was... adequate. Ryan looked up from whatever crap he was writing. For a minute they just stared, unsure of how to advance without having their conflict of interests come to the fore again.

"Welcome back, officer," said Ryan dryly, still holding the pen over the piece he was editing. "You'll want to take a seat."

Shane shrugged off his coat as he crossed the room, giving him a wary look. "What is it?"

"A letter." Ryan handed the folded piece of paper across the desk to him, hesitating halfway. "How do you feel about jazz?"

Shane blinked at him. "What?"

"Jazz music. Do you like it?"

The investigator shook his head slightly, as if to wake himself up. "Do I like jazz music?"

"Do you?"

"It's... It's good, I guess."

"Hmm. Interesting."

"Right." Shane snatched it out of Ryan's grip, swiftly unfolding it. His eyes skimmed the page quickly. "When did you get this?"

"About ten minutes ago. I rang you straight away." Ryan folded his arms on the desk, leaning forwards. "As we agreed."

Shane glanced at him over the top of the letter. "This guy sounds... completely insane."

"I kind of thought that when he started, well, killing people."

" _I am not a human being, but a spirit and a fell demon from hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman_." Shane continued reading in silence, mouthing the words ever so slightly as he did so. He suddenly stopped at the second last paragraph. "Why were you asking me if I like jazz?"

Ryan was still watching him. Very closely. "I was just wondering."

Shane lowered the letter to stare back, keeping his face guarded. "Is that so."

"Mmhmm."

"That's funny. Because the last part of this letter seems to, uh, revolve around jazz."

"Oh, does it?"

" _Now, to be exact, at 12:15 o clock (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I will pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to the people. I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions, that every person shall be spared that in whose house a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have mentioned_." Shane folded up the letter, getting to his feet. "That inspired your question, did it?"

"I suppose it must have." Ryan also stood up, his short figure throwing a tall shadow under the sunlight that shone from the window behind. "Anything else, officer?"

Shane tucked the note into his pocket, looking down his nose at the man in front of him. "The Axeman doesn't seem particularly fond of the police. Lots of criticism in the letter, I found. Funny that this letter was sent here, and not to the station."

Ryan kept his face guarded, feeling very comforted at the sight of Helen approaching the office. "Yeah. Weird."

"Very." Shane turned away as Helen opened the office door, a puzzled frown appearing on her face at the sight of the two men together.

"Good morning, officer," she said slowly, giving Ryan a questioning look. "Ryan, do you have a moment?"

"Yeah," said Ryan, sitting back down. "Inspector Madej was just leaving."

"I was indeed." Shane paused in closing the door behind him, giving Ryan one last lingering stare. "Funny. I didn't hear you ask your friend here her thoughts on jazz music."

He shut the door, leaving the two journalists to discuss whatever they had to discuss. He had a fresh piece of evidence to return to the station. Perhaps there was a clue somewhere in it, among all the satanic symbolism. _'They have been so utterly stupid as to amuse not only me, but his satanic majesty'_. Whoever wrote this was a dab hand in smooth writing.

And that Ryan Bergara sure had a lot of books on the supernatural scattered along his bookshelves.


	4. Esther Pepitone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane meets Esther in secret. Ryan kind of fucks this up for him.

A light knocking on the door. So early? Ryan glanced at his watch. It was only eight o'clock in the morning. He didn't have any appointments or anything, not that he was aware of. Why was he acting as if he didn't already know exactly who was popping around so early?

"Come in," he called, already feeling that prickling sensation that meant something he didn't want to happen was definitely about to happen. 

The receptionist pushed open the door, stepping in. "It's Inspector Madej. Again."

"Tell him-" began Ryan, just as the investigator himself simply wandered into the room. "Ah. Nevermind."

Shane stared at the receptionist, an eyebrow raised. She glanced questioningly at Ryan, who rolled his eyes. _Just let him in_. She closed the door after her, disappearing down the corridor. Neither man spoke for a moment or so. One was busy wondering why the other was there. The other was busy wondering how he could disguise the reason why he was there.

"Back so soon, officer?" asked Ryan, flippantly gesturing for him to take a seat, in such a manner as to show that the investigator was not welcome in the slightest. "What a... pleasant surprise."

Shane promptly ignored the offered seat. "I couldn't help but notice your collection of books that last time I was in." The investigator strolled along the bookshelves, hands in his pockets, like he was in a public library and not an editor's office. "Interesting selection." He took down a thick leather-bound one, flipping through the pages. _Clairvoyance and Occult Powers_. "You seem particularly fond of the supernatural."

"I guess." Ryan watched him carefully, as a cat on a wall would watch a dog prowling in the gardens below. "Would you mind telling me why you're here? I'm quite busy today."

"Oh, I can't stay long," replied Shane distractedly as he skimmed the thin pages of the book. "I have an appointment soon... What has you so interested in the occult?"

"Is it a crime?"

"No. Just odd." Shane crossed the room to the desk, glancing at Ryan over the top of the book. "Nice pen."

"Uh... Thanks."

"I bet it writes pretty smoothly."

"It's okay. What are you up to?"

He dropped the book onto the desk, spinning it to face Ryan before landing a finger on a particular sentence. "Would you like to just write this out for me real quick? Won't take a moment."

Ryan stared up at him, his gaze flicking down to the sentence. _A Ouija board can give a user the ability to contact those from the past, and therefore allow satanists to access souls from the deepest hell_. "What is this? What are you doing?"

"It's no big deal. Just write it." The intensity of the man's stare made Ryan's teeth clench. "Come on, I don't have all day." 

What was... Was Shane trying to frame him for the letter?!

"I don't want to," replied Ryan, finally putting the pen down on top of the book. "So... That's that."

"Hm. Figures." 

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Shane picked up the book, tipping the pen off. It rolled across the desk; Ryan raised his hand to stop it from dropping off the edge. "What were you doing out the night we, uh, _ran into_ each other?"

"What the hell is this, Madej?" Ryan got to his feet, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable sitting down. "If you're going to- to fucking _interrogate_ me, I won't do it without a lawyer."

"A lawyer? That's quite drastic."

"If it's you doing the questioning, I don't think it's drastic at all."

"And what's wrong with me doing the questioning?"

 _You're trying to fucking frame me or something, that's what's wrong_. "You're an asshole."

"Hm." Shane was looking at him like he was a puzzle just dying to be solved. "As much as I appreciate your frankness, fuck you."

"If that's everything," said Ryan quickly, firmly, refusing to retaliate. It was too early for an argument. "You can go."

The investigator made no move to leave. It was clear he wanted to push this. It was clear he wanted _something_ , and the fact Ryan couldn't figure out what it was made him... agitated. Flighty. Anxious. Every uncomfortable emotion at once.

Shane suddenly turned away, strolling back towards the bookshelves. "Mind if I borrow a few books?" 

"Do I look like a fucking library to you?"

The investigator whipped around at this outburst, an eyebrow raised at Ryan's flared temper. "Excuse me?"

"I- Sorry. It's early." Jesus, he was clearly a lot more on edge than he thought he was. He sat back down. "I just- Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out."

Slowly turning away, Shane plucked out a few of the stranger-looking volumes lining the shelves. "You often have a temper like that?"

"No. Never."

"Alright." A word dripping with suspicion. 

Ryan glanced at the books Shane was gathering. "You interested in the occult all of a sudden?"

"Mmhmm. I dabble." 

 _So does the Axeman, if I remember correctly_. "I'll say I didn't expect a lawful man like you to believe in the supernatural."

"I'm full of surprises, Mr Bergara," replied Shane as he turned back to face him, arms loaded with books of all shapes and sizes. Mainly anything to do with the Devil, it appeared. "Now, I best be going."

"Hold on." Ryan hopped up, quickly locating the small paperback book he was looking for. "You'll like this, I think."

Shane stared at the proffered book. " _A Study in Scarlet_."

"Yep. A murder mystery."

"How appropriate."

"I agree." He placed the book on the pile, smiling dryly at the taller man as he did so. "It's about a seemingly unsolvable murder, but in the end... justice always prevails."

Shane raised an eyebrow at him from around the books. "Only if we make it so."

"Mm." Ryan followed him to the door, holding it open, since the investigator was currently unable to. "There hasn't been any murders in a few days."

"No. The Axeman must be busy."

"Very busy."

Shane gave him one last frown before strolling off down the corridor, the people subconsciously moving to make way. Ryan stared after him, one hand still lingering on the side of the door. The investigator seemed to have such an affect on people, a way of making them do as he wanted without them even really noticing. He was intimidating, Ryan supposed. But there was something else there too. Something he wasn't quite so sure of.

"Shane Madej," muttered Ryan to himself. "What are you up to."

"You okay there?" Steven was standing just out of his line of sight beside the door, looking appropriately concerned. 

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine." Ryan smiled at him. "You good?"

"Yup. Just bumped into Brent at the library and he wanted me to pass on a message." He took it out of his pocket, passing it over. "I haven't read it, because I'm not a sneak! So here you go."

"Oh. Uh, thanks." Ryan took it off him, unfolding the paper. _Follow him_. "I- I have to go."

 

* * *

 

Esther Pepitone's house was giant. A sprawling mansion located just on the edge of town, where all the other sprawling mansions were. But even among them, her house was a giant among giants.

Well, it wasn't _her_ house. It was her husband's, but Shane had never met him. He wasn't meant to have met him. In fact, he was hopefully never going to meet him. Only because that would just ramp the whole thing up to something it shouldn't be. Not to cast doubt on Esther's words, but he was almost entirely sure she was, well, lying.

Even as her ridiculously upper-class housemaid let him into the house, Esther didn't exactly appear the tormented wife she was claiming to be.

"Oh, you're here already?" She swanned down the sweeping stairs, her silk or satin or whatever luxurious fabric robe floating around her. A steaming cup of tea was held delicately in her perfectly manicured hands. "My apologies. I would have made myself more presentable."

 _If that's possible_. "I'll wait in the living room if you want."

"Lydia, darling, could you get us some more tea?" She smiled at the housemaid, who smiled demurely back. "Thank you, my l- dear."

Shane watched as the housemaid swept out of the cavernous hallway in her own robe, almost matching the lady of the Manor's. "Your housemaid doesn't quite look like one."

Esther smiled at him, the gesture not quite reaching her dark eyes. "Perhaps you've just never seen a black woman in anything other than a maid's outfit. I like to care for my staff, no matter their race."

"That's very kind of you. Not many around here would agree, I'm guessing."

"No, but their thoughts don't matter to me. Come." She lead him into the living room; impossibly high walls, and windows just as high and just as wide, giving a nice full view of the street outside. "My husband is away at the moment. Los Angeles, I believe."

"Mm." Shane moved to the window, staring at the very familiar car parked at the black iron gates. It most certainly had not been there when he'd arrived. "And you still feel in danger here?"

"Ever so much." She lay across the plush lounge chair, a hand resting lightly against her forehead, as if she was physically ill. "The stress is wearing me out, I must admit."

He hid his dubious thoughts. "That's terrible."

"It is. He's truly awful to me, and he's getting worse everyday."

The housemaid returned with a silver tray balanced on one hand, a newspaper in the other. "The Times-Picayune has just arrived."

"Oh, delightful," replied Esther, immediately brightening up as she stretched a slim hand out for it. "Thank you."

Shane snorted, pausing as the two women stared at him. "Oh, sorry. I just... That newspaper isn't one of my favourites."

"Ah. Unfortunate." Esther sat upright, allowing room for the housemaid to sit beside her. Odd. "I quite enjoy it. Especially recently, with this Axeman."

"It's so exciting," replied the housemaid, as if she wasn't supposed to be, well, serving them. Not that Shane encouraged having housemaids. He'd never have one himself, not in a million years. "Oooh, look at this one. _The Axeman's Letter_."

Shane turned back to the window, leaving them to their excited chatter. That car was still sitting in the entrance, looking a tad out of place among the other shiny expensive cars the Pepitones owned. Ryan wasn't exactly subtle. But why the hell was he following him? Esther would scream bloody murder if she found out he'd been followed to her house. She was very strict about remaining anonymous throughout this investigation.

"Excuse me for a moment, ladies." He was already halfway to the door. He wasn't even sure if they noticed him leaving.

Shane pushed open the front door, standing in the humid air. It was a damp heat, despite the warm breeze. Like he was standing in a big bowl of hot water. Ryan's car was empty, it appeared. He crossed the porch at a leisurely gait, scanning the surrounding trees closely. So much foliage to hide in. The gardens surrounding the manse were vast and crowded with all sorts of shrubbery. The leaves were all moving ever so slightly in the gentle breeze, rolling waves, like looking at a green sea. 

"Where are you?" muttered Shane, standing at the railing, resting his hands on the smooth wood. "C'mon. Move. Give me something."

Nothing. Not even a fidget. Shane moved back to the porch stairs, debating whether he should go down to Ryan's car. Maybe key it? That would draw the man out.

"Inspector?" 

He jumped, realizing he was halfway down the steps. "Fucking- Sorry, Ms Pepitone. My apologies."

She stood in the doorway, watching him closely. And just behind her, the housemaid. As usual. "Are you alright? Your tea is getting cold. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't hang around my porch. I have neighbours, as I hope you've noticed."

"I- Yes. Yes, I'm sorry." He hopped back up the steps to the door, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the car across the gravel driveway. "Let's continue, shall we?"

Esther shut the door gently behind him. "I told you how I feel about you being seen here."

He frowned down at her, hands in his pockets. "You did. And I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be careful. Or I'll have your head."

He half-turned to look at Lydia, who was standing just behind him, hands folded at her waist. He suddenly felt strangely... trapped. "I hope that's a metaphor."

"You hope." She stepped around him, placing a hand on her housemaid's shoulder to guide her away. "Please. Let's get on with it."

 

* * *

 

He stayed where he was, back pressed against the wood of the porch. His legs hurt from crouching for so long, but he was too frightened to move, too downright terrified. The second he'd heard the door open he'd dove down to the front of the porch, pressing himself flat against it, as Shane's footsteps circled the porch just above him. At one point, Ryan had risked looking up, and had seen the investigator's hands on the wooden railing. And even if he thought his heart had stopped, it had completely frozen over at the the man's voice.

"Where are you? C'mon. Move. Give me something."

 _No. Fuck you_. Ryan swallowed, staying perfectly still. It was so quiet he was almost certain he could hear the investigator breathing.

Then a woman's voice - Esther Pepitone nonetheless - had joined him, demanding he go back inside. And that had been that.

Ryan got back to his feet, dusting himself down. His own investigating had almost been ruined before it had started. It had been close, very close. If Shane had caught him before he got to the door, he would've been screwed. But now it was time to try and figure out just what Shane Madej had been doing in New Orleans that night. Brent had told him to follow Shane for a reason, but what was the reason? He hurried up the steps, heading straight to the door, knocking loud and clear, all in one fluid movement. Might as well just go for it.

The door swung open almost instantly, revealing a curvaceous short black woman. By short, she was about his height. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Can I help you?"

"Mrs Pepitone?" he asked, his eyes flickering to the grand hall behind her, just in case Madej appeared. 

"No, I'll get her for you now." She stepped back, still holding the door. "Esther!" Was this the housemaid? Ryan couldn't exactly bring himself to believe it.

"Coming, darling!" The lady herself appeared in one of the various doorways to the left. Was she even an actual lady? She sure acted like one. "Oh, who is this young man?" 

Ryan stared at her. 'Young man'? She was basically the same age as him. "Mrs Pepitone, my name is Ryan Bergara. I'm the editor of the Times-Picayune."

As if the name of the newspaper was a magic word, Shane appeared. He stood in the doorway behind Esther, still as stone, eyes locked on Ryan's. He looked like he'd bypassed shock and gone straight into some untouched level of emotion. Ryan blatantly stared back as Esther approached the doorway.  _Come on, say you know me. If you don't, then what are you hiding from the police? From the town? From me? What are you doing here at all?_

"Mr Bergara," gushed Esther, extending a hand for him to take. "My, what a pleasant visitor to have. I simply adore your paper. Please, come in."

Oh. Oh, right. He hadn't been expecting this. He stepped into the hallway, still feeling Shane's eyes burning into him. "I just wanted to come by and extend our gratitude to you. We've heard you're a fan, and it's a great honor for us all at the Times-Picayune."

"Oh my! I'm blushing." She slapped his arm lightly, blinking her sharp eyes. "Please, I insist you have some tea. I'm afraid I already have a visitor. This is..." She paused, her gaze flickering to meet the housemaid's. "This is Shane Madej. An old friend of mine from Chicago."

 _What?_ Ryan extended a hand, the inspector grabbing it instantly in such a forceful grip Ryan was pulled forwards a step. Shane's face was still blank, but his eyes were sparking with rage.

"Pleasure," he said through gritted teeth.

"It's all mine," replied Ryan flatly, wrenching his hand out of the man's grip. "How did you come to meet Mrs Pepitone?"

"As she said, we grew up together in Chicago."

"She didn't say that."

"She didn't get to."

"So you visit her regularly?"

"When I'm passing through."

"You pass through often?"

"Often enough."

Esther cleared her throat, giving them both a narrow-eyed look. "Have... Have you two met before, if you don't mind me asking?"

Shane shared a strange look with her, his face going pale. "No. No, I don't know him."

What the hell was going on here? Ryan smiled at her. "No, I haven't had the, um, _pleasure_."

She looked almost relieved as she turned away. "Ah, I see. Now, if you'll-"

"Oh, Esther." The 'housemaid' appeared in the doorway to the living room, hands on her hips, the light from behind shining through the thin fabric of her silk robe. "I had almost forgotten. You have a lunch in an hour that you just must get ready for."

"Oh, of course!" Esther turned to the two men in the hallway, smiling apologetically. "I'm so very busy recently, I can hardly stand it! You can show yourselves out, I'm sure."

The living room door closed behind her, leaving Ryan and Shane standing alone in the gaping hallway. Ryan turned to face him, his footsteps echoing. The inspector was already staring down at him, still looking inexplicably infuriated, like Ryan had just killed his entire family.

"Fancy meeting you here," said the journalist quietly, not taking his eyes off Shane's.

Shane gave him a murderous look before brushing past him towards the door, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. Ryan caught the door before it slammed shut, stepping out onto the porch behind Shane and closing the door gently behind him.

"What are you doing, Shane?"

The investigator stopped at the bottom of the wooden steps, half-turning to glare up at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"What are you doing. Here." Ryan moved to stand on the top step, arms folded across his chest. For once, it was him looking down at Shane. "In New Orleans."

"My job. I'd advise you do yours too." The man turned away, continuing on down the driveway. "Instead of trying to do mine."

"I am doing my job," replied Ryan, following him across the gravel driveway.

"Oh, is your job being a pain in my fucking neck?" said Shane coldly, stopping at his car. "Because you're real damn good at that, pal."

"I want-"

"Why did you follow me?"

Ryan swallowed, coming to a halt just at the bonnet. "Curiosity."

"Curiosity," repeated Shane dryly, yanking open his car door. "About what. What has you so curious about me."

"Many things."

"Specify."

"No."

"Jesus Christ." Shane made an irritated tutting sound, shaking his head in frustration. "Stop following me, alright?"

Ryan stayed where he was as the investigator reversed at top speed, spraying gravel as he flew around the monumental fountain in the center of the driveway, and disappeared through the gates. What was he doing with Esther Pepitone? And why had they both lied about why Shane was there? It was all almost as intriguing as the identity of the Axeman, but that was only because Ryan was pretty sure he'd figured _that_ out. He just needed hard evidence. 

"Mr Bergara!"

Ryan spun on his heel, his heart jumping. "Jesus! Oh, Miss..?"

"Just call me Lydia." The housemaid handed him a pretty envelope, her nails just as polished and pretty as Esther's had been. "Mrs Pepitone wants to extend an invitation to you and the staff of the Times-Picayune to her jazz night tomorrow. Plenty will be coming, due to this Axeman roaming around. I'm sure you remember what his letter said."

"Oh, I do." He took the envelope, smiling at her. "Tomorrow night, Tuesday the 13th. We'll be there."

"Lovely. Good day, Mr Bergara."

He crossed the driveway to his car, sitting in it in pensive silence for a moment. If Shane was really a close friend of Esther's, he'd also be there tomorrow. And if he wasn't... Ryan would have some sleuthing to do, it appeared.

 


	5. You Better Jazz It! part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Ryan start off the night of endless jazz on a rocky note. It rapidly goes downhill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/fhyhP_5VfKM  
> I basically listened to this on repeat while writing the party scene so if y'all wanna hit it up and really get in the mood that's g

The sound of music was already beginning to float around the town. Shane stepped out of the station, adjusting his hat on his head, the brim hiding his eyes from the low orange sun. He'd just dropped off those books from Ryan's office to be analysed in accordance to the letter. Any similar phrasing, any similar imagery anything at all, and they were to call him straight away. He wasn't going to Esther Pepitone's party, not now. He couldn't leave Ryan Bergara free to roam the city on the one night that could actually provide Shane with some hard evidence. No, he was going to do some following of his own, in retaliation for the journalist following him yesterday. _Two can play this game, Bergara_. The accountant - Steve? Steven? - had given him Ryan's address almost instantly, clearly completely oblivious to the situation at hand as he bounced off down the corridor. The whole Times-Picayune building was hopping, the reason for which he didn't care to know. 

His plan was ruined just as he'd pulled up outside the journalist's house, just behind Ryan's car. It was ruined mainly because Ryan was halfway down the driveway, keys in hand, and dressed very smartly indeed. He paused at his own car, squinting at Shane as he got out.

"Hello," said the journalist slowly, an eyebrow raised. "Mind if I ask what you're doing outside my house at half seven in the evening?"

Shane stood behind his opened door, the engine still rumbling. "Where are you off to, hm?"

"Your dear friend Esther's event, Shane. I thought you'd be invited."

Shit. "I am invited. I was just passing by and thought I'd offer you a lift." 

"Right." Ryan stayed where he was, looking extremely wary all of a sudden. "A lift. In your car."

"Mmhmm." Why the hell did he look so scared?

"Alone."

Shane frowned at him. "Well, yes."

"I- I had actually told a few coworkers I'd give them a lift," replied Ryan quickly, still watching the investigator with wide eyes. "So... Thanks, but I'm okay."

"It's fine, I can give them a lift too." Shane tipped his hat at him, the perfect gentleman. "I insist."

Ryan swallowed, looking around the empty street, as if for help. "I- Okay. Okay."

The journalist sat in the passenger seat like he was stepping into his own grave, hesitantly shutting the door behind him. He sat stock still, staying as close to the car door as possible.

"You seem a bit on edge," said Shane after a few moments silent driving, throwing a sidelong glance at him. "Had other plans?" _Like murder, perhaps?_

"No."

"You know Esther Pepitone?"

"I know of her. I heard she liked the paper."

"Why were you following me yesterday?"

There was no response from the journalist for a few minutes. "I told you. Curiosity."

"Mm. I didn't really believe that, though. And I still don't."

"How do _you_ know Esther?" Ryan was looking at him now, his head turned just enough to be able to. "Apart from 'growing up together' in Chicago."

"You sound very doubtful."

"I am. And you didn't answer my question." The streetlights were beginning to turn on, and as the sun receded further, the sound of jazz music was beginning to grow louder and louder, coming from every second building they passed. "Are you sleeping with her?"

"I- What?! No!" Shane threw a glare at him. "She's a married woman, Bergara. I don't partake in breaking up marriages."

"Then why were you there?" demanded Ryan, almost fully turned in his seat now. It sounded like the question had been driving him insane. 

"I can't tell you."

"You're very secretive about your activities around town."

"Maybe you're just a bit too interested in what I'm doing," replied Shane dryly, turning onto the main street. It was swarming with people, some of them already looking half-drunk. "Jesus, how many people are here?"

"I'm going to find out." Ryan had turned back to scowl out the window, like a little child who didn't get his way. "Whether you like it or not."

"I very much don't like it. It's private business, Ryan." He pulled up at a red light. "I'd appreciate it if you kept your nose well away."

The journalist glanced at the glowing red light, smiling. "Don't you usually ignore those things?"

"Hmm." Shane gave a wry smile, still staring straight at the crowded road ahead. "You're funny."

God, why wouldn't these people just _move_ already? "I'll just hop out here."

Shane looked like he'd been electrocuted at the mention of Ryan leaving the car. "No. Wait. I'll come with." _You're not sneaking off now, pal_.

"But we're in the middle of the street."

"Look behind us. Look in front of us. We aren't going anywhere for a while, and neither are these people." He killed the engine, giving the journalist a expectant look. "Shall we?"

Ryan gave him a quick concerned glance before getting out.

Now he understood why the Times-Picayune had been buzzing earlier. Everyone there had been invited to Esther's celebrations. Shane stood at the receptionists desk, waiting for Ryan to get Helen and the accountant, whose name had still not come back to him. The door to Ryan's office was open just slightly, showing a sliver of the dark room within. Shane glanced around the corridor; it was weirdly empty, silent but for the dulled jazz music wafting through the windows.

He stepped into the office, closing the door over behind him. There had to be something lying around. Anything that could prove that Ryan was a killer. That Ryan was the Axeman. He moved to the desk, throwing a quick glance at the door before quietly rolling out the top drawer. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the crumpled tissue speckled with blood. He gingerly reached out, unraveling it. He lifted up the object closer to his face, still barely able to breathe. It was a bloodstained razor. The only weapon missing from the first murder. Sitting in the desk of Ryan Bergara.

"What are you doing?"

Shane raised his head to see the short, broad-shouldered and unmistakable silhouette of Ryan standing in the doorway. He didn't reply. He couldn't. His mouth wouldn't cooperate. He wasn't even sure what to say, what to do. Ryan didn't move from the doorway, clearly extremely tense, even from this distance. His fists were clenched by his sides.

Shane swallowed, straightening up. The razor glinted in the dim light coming through the door. "Why do you have this." His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

"Leave it."

"No." 

Ryan slowly raised a hand towards him, like you would to calm a potentially rabid animal. "Leave it where it is, Shane."

The investigator shook his head ever so slightly, the gesture barely noticeable in the dark. He could hear the faraway sounds of people screaming and laughing, just in the street outside. Yet here he was still so alone. Alone with the Axeman.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan stepped into the office, his hand trembling as he raised it. "Leave it where it is, Shane."

The investigator just stared, not moving from the desk. He could see half of the man's face in the sliver of light coming through the door. And the razor, clasped in his hand.

"This has to come back to the station."

 _Oh, so you can just throw it out, get rid of the only piece of evidence not handled personally by you?_ "Does it?"

"Yes." Shane moved towards the door, his coat rustling as he did so. "Move."

"No." He wasn't taking that razor outside the room, not a chance. There were no axes in here. Maybe he would be able to take him on. "Put it back, Shane."

"Move, Bergara." He had moved out of the sliver of amber light, the only indicator of his position being his tall frame silhouetted against the windows behind him. "I don't want to cause a scene, but I will."

"Cause a scene?"

"Yeah. Cause a scene. As in, kick your ass."

Ryan subconsciously rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as Shane slowly made a wide circle around him. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, louder than the music just below them. "Why do you want that so bad? The razor."

"Why do _you?_ "

"Answer my question."

"Last chance, Ryan. Move, before I-"

"Heyyyy!" Steven flicked on the lights, making Shane and Ryan yelp in unison, flinching at the sudden glare. "Ready to go? Because we sure as hell are!"

Helen waved as she hurried past, her white frilled dress swishing as she moved. "Come on! We can't be late to Esther Pepitone's party. She's Esther Pepitone!"

Ryan glanced at Shane, noting that the razor had disappeared. Probably into one of his pockets. "Cool. Okay. Let's go."

The inspector swept past him, not even showing a flicker of a smile to Helen and Steven as he pushed through them. Ryan gestured for Steven to follow, looking a tad more urgent than he had intended. The accountant rushed off after Shane, his tie flapping over his shoulder. Whatever Ryan's reasoning was to go after Shane, Steven didn't question it. Just like everyone else on the team, he trusted Ryan. Plus, there was no other way to go to a Pepitone party than in a rush.

 

* * *

 

 

The drive had been mostly in silence, apart from Helen and Steven's whooping and excitable chatter. Shane and Ryan had sat in the front in a stony silence, like the divorced parents of two toddlers. Esther's driveway was overflowing with cars of all shapes and sizes, shiny, rusty, old, new, it didn't matter. In fact, her whole street was like a carnival. There must have been hundreds of people, multiple jazz songs filling up the air. Fireworks were already going off, lighting up the sky with aggressive bursts of color. Shane stepped out onto the street, immediately almost being hit by a speeding car. He caught hold of his hat to keep it on his head as he stumbled back against his car, muttering a curse.

Ryan appeared next to him, avoiding eye contact. "I know you have it."

"No shit." Shane stepped around him, pausing as the man stuck an arm out to block his way. "Really? Right here?"

The journalist gave him a dark look, fit for a murderer, before reluctantly dropping his arm. "Watch yourself, Shane. Because I will be."

Shane pointed at his eyes, then to Ryan, before continuing on down the driveway, gravel crunching at each step. Esther's house was lit up like a circus tent, the large doors out front wide open for all to enter. He had to weave his way through the maze of cars before he made it to the steps.

"Oh, Shane!" Esther appeared from a crowd of people on the porch, pulling a dazed-looking man behind her. "This is my husband, Mike. Mike, this is an old friend from Chicago. Shane Madej."

The man blinked his blue eyes, his scotch swilling around in his glass. "Ah. Hello. You're a tall man, aren't you?"

Shane fought to roll his eyes. "I've been told."

"Help yourself to whatever you like," she beamed with her lacquered red lips. "Lydia, see what he should like to drink."

Shane frowned as Esther disappeared with Mike, leaving Lydia to actually _serve_ him. "I- I'm okay, I'll get my own drink. You're not joining in on the festivities tonight?"

She was dressed in a simple drab maid's outfit, entirely formal, nothing like the robed woman he'd seen the day before. "I'm a housemaid, Mr Madej. I have no right to be joining in."

"But yesterday-"

"The alcohol is in the kitchen," she said suddenly, her eyes so cold he was surprised he didn't turn into a block of ice. "Help yourself, sir."

"But-"

"Have a good evening." She basically ran away, disappearing into the crowd. 

Shane turned to look at Esther, who immediately glanced away, a laughing smile appearing on her face as she continued chatting to whatever group of friends she was entertaining. He was entirely confused. Might as well be drunk too, he supposed. He moved to the main doors, returning the insincere smiles of the rich and well-known New Orleanians that surrounded him. God, he felt out of place. He cursed as someone ran right into him, a shoulder digging into his ribs as he stumbled back against the door.

"Oh, sorry," smiled Ryan, the picture of innocence, his hands fumbling at Shane's pockets. "I didn't see you there."

"Do _not_ even-" Shane managed to catch his wrists, subtly holding them away, too low for anyone to really see. "Are you serious?"

"So sorry," continued Ryan, passing by as if he hadn't even noticed bumping into the investigator. He disappeared into the hall, leaving Shane to make sure the razor was still in his pocket. Which it wasn't. 

"Son of a bitch," muttered Shane, slipping into the hall after him. He could barely keep track of the guy. Why did he have to be so damn short? 

Shane ignored the indignant yelps as he shoved people aside, his eyes fixed on Ryan just ahead of him. The journalist threw a glance back over his shoulder, eyes widening as he noticed how close Shane was getting.

"Hey, Shane." Superintendent Rubin popped up in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "Glad you could make it! The rest of the force weren't actually invited. I'm here representing them. Wahey!"

"Yeah, that's great," he mumbled, watching as Ryan disappeared into the living room, where the music was coming from in waves of noise. 

"Can you believe she actually has Cab Calloway here?" Sara looked so excited, as bubbly as the champagne in her hand, the feathered headband she was wearing waving as she spoke. "And I heard the Nicholas Brothers are around, too! Who's next? Benny Goodman?"

"Yeah. Ha ha."

"Are you listening to me? Hey! Shane? Shane!"

He ignored her calls, shrugging off his coat as he headed towards the living room. It was just getting in the way now. He dumped it on the first table he saw as he hurried into the room, the residents of said table throwing him filthy looks. They were quickly cut off from his view as a wildly dancing couple barged in front of him.  _Oh, get fucked_. Jesus, did the music have to be quite so loud? It was blaring, the trumpets making his ears buzz. He paused for a split second as he saw the conductor of the group of trumpet-wielding men.

"Holy shit," he muttered. "It really is Cab Calloway. Nice." 

Unfortunately, he had a potential murderer to track down. Shane stood on his tip-toes, providing a suitable view of the room. No Ryan, but a certain accountant was visible chatting animatedly near the door.

"Hey, hey, Steven!" Shane had to shout over the music, waving a hand in Steven's face to grab his attention. "Ryan? Have you seen Ryan?"

The accountant didn't even pause in his gossiping, nodding at Shane and pointing at the door just next to them. Shane basically ran through it, almost knocking a waiter and the accompanying tray of drinks flying. He swiped a glass of champagne as he swept past, knocking it back in one go. He needed it.

By luck and nothing else, Shane barged straight into the journalist at the next corner, immediately grabbing him by the arms and swinging him back against the wall. The people around them were either too drunk or too busy dancing to even spare a glance their way. He ignored Ryan's struggles to push his hands away, keeping him pinned back against the wall with his own weight. He located the razor in the front of Ryan's waistcoat, managing to slip it out, an arm pressed against the journalist's chest to keep him in place as he tucked the metal into his own back pocket. Ryan kicked at him, fighting to wriggle out, face flushed. 

"Stop kicking me!" shouted Shane over the deafening din. 

"No! Give it back!"

"Hey!" A hand on Shane's shoulder, firm. Helen. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Nothing!" they shouted back in unison, glaring at her. 

She stepped back, hands raised like they'd pulled a gun on her. "Yikes. Alright!"

Ryan waited until she'd turned away before elbowing the investigator sharply in the side, just below the ribs. Shane doubled over slightly, cursing as he did so. The smaller man grabbed the chance, taking the investigator in a headlock with one arm, reaching over his back for the razor with the other. The taller man pushed forwards, throwing Ryan against the mahogany table beside them, his hands splayed either side of the journalist as they came to a jarring halt. 

"Excuse me!" Lydia appeared out of the wild crowd around them, hands on her hips. "Stop this, now!"

Ryan released the taller man, slipping under him, flying past Lydia and back into the crowd. Shane stumbled against the wall before pushing off it, heading into the crowd after the journalist. And Lydia stood where she was, essentially left in the dust. She stared after them, not liking the uncertainty rising in her chest. Those two were trouble, she could feel it.

She turned away, heading towards the stairs, catching Esther's eye as she did so. A subtle nod upwards. They had to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah there'll be a part two soon... and a MURDER  
> also Cab Calloway is FCKIN AMAZING if you like that type of music listen to Jumpin Jive (the one with the Nicholas Brothers dancing in it because h*ly fuck they're superhuman)


	6. You Better Jazz It! part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Ryan acknowledge their irrationality, but could the identity of the Axeman be something even more crazy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a long one, im afraid, but it's JUICY

He had no idea where he was. The music from the living room was still blaring, the sounds of people laughing and singing still ongoing, yet it all sounded so faraway. He kept the razor clutched in his hand, blade out, just in case. He wasn't intending on hurting anybody, but he couldn't say the same for the man following him. And self-defense was self-defense, even against a police officer, right? 

The house was like a maze, corridors branching and branching and branching again, all identical. There was no way Esther and her meek husband could possibly use all these rooms. They were all currently empty, nothing but shadows and silhouetted furniture. Usually these surrounding would give Ryan the chills, but he was too busy trying to hide from the Axeman himself. He was _sure_ Shane was the Axeman. Why else would he want the razor so badly? Ryan kept one hand on the cool wall as he silently moved towards what he hoped was the main stairs, following the sounds of the crowd. Poking his head around the next corner, his eyes landed on a thin sliver of yellow light in one of the rooms further down the hall. Was he in the staff's quarters maybe? It wasn't often that the staff would be living in such a lavish section of the house, though. He could feel his curiosity niggling again, the curiosity that always made him do things he really didn't want to do. The curiosity that had gotten him in this situation in the first place. This self-contemplation was abruptly ended.

Shane must have been sneaking up right behind him, because he only heard a few rapid footsteps before the investigator slammed into him like a freight train. Ryan landed heavily on his back, lifting the razor up over his head as Shane tried to grab it, his other hand attempting to shove the man away.

"Get off!" shouted Ryan, feeling the investigator's hand grabbing his wrist, trying to pull the razor back towards him. 

"Give- Ow, fuck!" Shane whipped his hand back, staring at the blood that welled up from the thin line on his palm. "Jesus Christ, man!"

Unsure about just how to proceed, Ryan improvised. He slapped the investigator hard across the face, an open-handed slap that echoed through the corridor. A bitch-slap, one could say. Shane stared at the wall for a moment in stunned silence, the side of his face already turning red. His eyes were watering from the sting. 

"You son of a bitch," he muttered, turning his eyes back to the terrified-looking man below him. "You absolute little-"

"What in heaven's name is going on here?" Esther swept around the corner, a candle held aloft. She was followed by Lydia, who oddly had a hand on Esther's wrist, as if ready to pull her away. "What are you two doing?"

Ryan had to tilt his head back to look at her, still flat on his back. "I- We-"

"-got lost," finished Shane quickly, feeling the journalist subtly wriggle under him in an attempt to get up. _Nuh-uh. Not until you give me the stupid razor_.

"Where did you find this?" asked Esther suddenly, approaching them, as if it wasn't a bit strange to find two men, who insisted they didn't know each other, lying on the floor of her house. "I've been missing this for a while. It was part of a set I got Mike for his birthday this year. I didn't even give it to him in the end." She crouched down, plucking the razor from Ryan's fingers.

Ryan and Shane went still, staring up at her.

"Oh my, there's blood on it," she said disgustedly, holding it between her index finger and thumb like it was a dirty napkin. "Oh, Mr Madej, you've cut your hand on it, haven't you?"

Ryan zoned out for a minute as he noticed Lydia fretting in the background, urgently pulling at Esther's arm. What was wrong? She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. 

"What is it, Lyd..." Esther's voice trailed off as she saw the look on her housemaid's face. "You- You two boys must best be going. Back to the party." 

Shane got to his feet, finally allowing Ryan to do the same. "Are you sure that's yours?"

Esther didn't reply, hurrying off down the corridor with the housemaid, and into the room Ryan had seen with the light on. She closed the door firmly after her, before swiftly opening it again to give the two men a warning look. 

"Go away," she snapped, before shutting the door for good. 

Ryan shared an odd look with the investigator beside him, the two of them simultaneously turning away. Shane was silent beside him, but his face showed that his thoughts were whirring in his head, his mind somewhere else entirely. 

 

* * *

 

 

That just didn't add up. If the razor wasn't Ryan's, then why had it been in his desk? How did a razor from this house get used in a violent murder? _Was_ it hers? But why would she lie? He couldn't keep up with the questions firing off in his head, almost to the same rhythm as the fireworks in the garden outside. And the entire time he could feel Ryan's eyes on him, just staring, as they wandered towards what they hoped was the party.

"What?" demanded Shane, finally turning his head to look down at the man. It was a tiny bit awkward, he had to admit. The entire night they'd been chasing each other through a stranger's house, and now with the object of interest gone, what were they supposed to do? Just have a friendly chat? "What is it? What are you looking at?"

"Just tell me." Ryan came to a halt, the taller man doing so a few steps after. "How do you know Esther Pepitone?"

Shane shook his head, walking on. "You are one stubborn bastard."

"Why are you lying? Why did you want that razor?" Ryan followed him into the next room, a fully furnished library by the looks of it. "Why did you borrow all those books? Why did-"

"You..." Shane came to a sudden halt, spinning to look at him. He had an incredulous look on his face, like he'd just discovered the meaning of life. "You think... You think it's _me_."

Ryan could feel himself reddening under the man's almost amused stare. "I don't know what you mean."

"Holy _fuck_ ," continued Shane, covering his eyes with his hand. "You think I'm the fucking Axeman, don't you?"

"Well." Ryan was watching him warily, still looking a tad scruffy from their scuffle. And still looking a tad afraid. "...Are you?"

"No, you idiot." Shane turned away, pacing among the high bookshelves. He had to keep moving, keep up with his thoughts. "What am I saying? We're both fucking idiots."

"Huh?" Ryan was following him a few feet behind, eyebrows raised. "Slow down, Shane! What are you talking about?"

"I think it's you! I _thought_ it was you." Shane waved his hand vaguely in the air. "With the whole creepy books, and then not giving me a sample of your handwriting, and then-"

" _That's_ what you were trying to do? I thought you were trying to frame me!"

"Ah, that explains that, then." The investigator came to a halt beside a towering bookshelf, turning back to give him an almost guilty look, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. "I think we've been a bit hasty in our suspicions."

"Well, I still have one more question."

Shane gave him a flat look. "Why I'm here in the first place."

Ryan nodded, hands on his hips. "Come on. It's the one thing I can't get past. I'll be honest and say it's been driving me insane."

"Right. Fine. But only because of the circumstances." Shane moved a bit closer, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper. "Esther is adamant about the secrecy of this whole thing, so if you tell _anyone_ what I'm about to tell you, I actually will kill you."

Ryan nodded again, more eagerly this time. A dog with a nice juicy steak being held right in front of it. "I won't. I swear."

"Mm. Okay, listen." Shane glanced over his shoulder, clearly agitated. "Esther Pepitone is very rich and very wealthy, as you've probably noticed. She also thinks her husband is planning on killing her."

"What? But he's-"

"Shut up while I tell my origin story, yeah?" Shane rolled his eyes, leaning against the bookshelf as he continued. "She wanted an official investigation into her husband's activities and stuff, but because she didn't have enough compelling evidence, they settled for a private investigation. She then demanded she wanted a detective from out of town, because she wished to remain anonymous. So I got the delightful job of listening to her blab on about her crazy husband, who is clearly anything but. Then while I was here, the Axeman committed his first crime, and since I'm the most experienced detective in the region, I was assigned to be the lead investigator." He sighed heavily. "I wasn't even supposed to be here for more than a day. But here I am. Yay."

Ryan looked thoughtful for a moment, stepping around him as he wandered down the narrow gap between the shelves. "So... So Esther thinks her husband is going to kill her."

"Apparently so."

"But why would she lie?" 

"I have no idea. What I do have is a question for you."

"Hm?" Ryan half-turned to look at him. "What is it?"

"Why was the razor from the Maggio murders in your drawer?"

Ryan made a face, almost a grimace. "It's... a little bit illegal. I stole it." Well, Helen stole it, but he wasn't going to rat her out. "From the first scene. For photos."

To his surprise, Shane just smiled a wry smile. "Why am I not surprised."

Ryan quickly hid his own smile, turning away. "So I think we both have a common question here, which is how Mike Pepitone's razor ended up at the crime scene."

"No, not Mike's. Esther said she never gave him the set, remember?"

"You're... You're right." Ryan turned back, watching as the investigator slipped a book off the shelf beside them, squinting at the title. "So how did-"

"Enough questions. You go back to writing your articles, and I'll go back to investigating my investigations, how about that?" Shane moved to the nearest window, holding the book in the dim light from outside. The window looked out onto the garden, and nothing else. " _The History of Witchcraft and Demonology_. Huh. Looks like you've got yourself a fellow weirdo, Ryan."

Ryan ignored the jibe, disappearing back down the row of books. "Hold on a second." 

Shane watched curiously as the journalist began taking down book after book, almost running back up the row to dump them on the large windowsill. His eyes widened as he saw all the titles. "No way."

" _The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil_." Ryan pushed them aside as he read out their titles. " _The Munich Manual of Demonic Magic. The Occult Significance of Blood_. She even has _The Grand Grimoire_. And then the rest of these? I've never even heard their names before!"

"She's just as obsessed with this weird shit as you are," muttered Shane, his eyes scanning the thick, leather-bound books.

"Uh, no. I'm not this bad. Mainly because I'm not rich enough." Ryan lifted up a particularly worn looking volume. " _Dictionnaire Infernal_. This is from 1818, Shane. This is some hardcore demon obsession. Just like in that letter!"

Shane gave him a long look, placing a hand on the book in Ryan's hand, slowly but firmly pushing it back down to the windowsill. "Look, as much as I understand your interest in these Axeman murders, I don't condone it."

"Axe _woman_ , maybe?"

"No, because Anna Lowe reported a tall white _man_ being the attacker she saw. Also, stop. You're a journalist, not a cop."

Ryan gave him a grin, pointing a finger at him. "I'm all you've got, though. You think you can just bring your cops in here and let them loose? This is a rich white woman's house. You'll need actual proof before you can start to even consider Esther a suspect, and then-"

"No, no, you see, this is what I wanted to avoid." Shane started piling the books up, resting an arm on them as he turned his head to scowl at the shorter man. "You are not allowed to start following and generally stalking Esther Pepitone like you did with me."

"Oh, just because I don't have some fancy title and shiny badge?"

"Uh, yes. For those exact reasons, actually."

Ryan paused. "Well, whatever, because I'll probably do it anyway. I-"

"Shh. Shut up." Shane's gaze was glued to something in the garden below, his arm dropping off the pile of books. "I didn't think the force were invited."

"Huh?" Ryan stood on his tiptoes, trying to see over the books. "Why? What is it?"

"Brent Bennett." Shane frowned as Ryan simply knocked a few books off the windowsill in order to get a better look. "Who's he talking to?"

"It's the housemaid," whispered Ryan, eyes wide. "Lydia. They look angry."

They did indeed, gesturing aggressively, until Lydia threw her hands into the air and stormed back into the house. Brent shouted something, the words lost in the swell of music still coming from the house, before also pacing off into the gardens. Shane and Ryan watched him go, both equally confused.

"Something's up," muttered Shane, half to himself, half to Ryan.

"I know." The journalist looked excited, smiling at him. "This is great."

"You're an odd man, Bergara. Now let's get back before someone actually notices we're gone."

 

* * *

 

 

Almost no one had noticed they were gone, it appeared. The festivities were only beginning to die down, but mainly because everyone there was either passed out drunk or well on their way to being so. Helen and Steven had dragged Ryan off into the main hall, which seemed to be the area of most action. The table in the center was on its side, the large flower display now spilled across the tiles. The music was still pumping from the living room, but it was slurred, messy, wild. Rubin passed by above the dancing crowd, on the shoulders of some trombonist, her drink spilling in her hand as she threw her head back and laughed. Shane wished he was that drunk. Instead, he'd spent the night chasing a fake Axeman, who in the end had turned out to actually be your average journalist. Well, maybe not average. Ryan was stubborn, if nothing else. As stubborn as himself, he supposed.

"Mr Madej." Lydia appeared beside him, a drink in hand. It was a wine of some sort, he guessed. "You must be the only other sober person here. You and Mr Bergara, it seems."

Shane wasn't sure exactly what she was implying. He took the offered drink, raising it to her in thanks. "Hopefully not for much longer."

She gave a small curtsy that he could only describe as ominous, before swanning off into the crowd. Even though she was still just dressed in a maid's uniform, she moved as if she was used to a much more comfortable lifestyle. Lady one day, maid the next. He frowned after her, raising the cup to his lips and taking a gulp. Why was he even doing all this? He was off duty, technically. And he still had time to get blackout drunk, right? 

He had only just swallowed the second gulp when Ryan shoved his way out of the crowd, striking it from his hand. It shattered on the tiles, a sound that usually wouldn't have gone unnoticed. No one even turned their head. Shane stared at him, his hand still raised as if holding an invisible glass.

"What the fuck, Ryan?"

"Are you blind?" Ryan muttered a curse as a woman stumbled into him from behind, pushing him forwards into the taller man. "She put something in that. Just behind you!"

"'She' meaning Lydia?"

"I didn't think I'd have to specify that, but yeah." Ryan glanced over his shoulder at where Esther stood alone on the stairs, a hand resting on the sweeping railing, the other holding a glass. She raised it to them from across the room. "You have to throw that up. Now."

Shane blinked down at him. "You're being ridiculous. I feel fine."

"Throw it up."

"I- What are you doing?" Shane backed away, a hand raised in warning. "If you punch me, I swear to God."

"It could've been poison!" Ryan moved closer, his fist still drawn back. "You have to throw it up!"

"If you punch me just to get me to vomit I'll knock you out, man!" He suddenly stumbled a few steps, placing a hand against the wall behind him to balance himself. "Woah. Okay, maybe I feel a bit, uh, wackadoo. But not enough to let you punch me!"

The inspector was looking a bit pale all of a sudden. Ryan turned to see if Esther was still watching. The staircase was empty. "Come on. Just... In here."

He guided Shane into the nearest almost-empty room, closing over the door so that it was mainly dark. It was almost-empty because he could barely make out the familiar accountant passed out on the floor in the corner, but that didn't count, right? Plus, they could trust Steven. 

"You have to fucking vomit, Shane!" hissed Ryan, dumping the taller man into the nearest chair. "Just do it already!"

"It's- It takes time, Ryan." The man was slurring his words, waving a hand in the journalist's face like he was some annoying fly. "It's not just a _trick_. It's _technique_."

"Shut the fuck up and vomit."

" _No_." Shane sloppily pushed him away, rocking dangerously in his chair. "I don't want to. You're not my mom. You're just- You're just a silly little man."

Ryan rubbed a hand down his face, eyes closed. "And _you're_ meant to be the super-sleuth, are you?"

"Yes." Shane went to stand up, simply falling to the ground, his face against the cool floor. "Gimme a minute, I'm fine. I'll just... I'll just nap here. For a second."

"No, no no no. You have to stay awake." He spun around, panicking. What to do? How do you keep someone awake? Air. Fresh air. He ran to the window, struggling to push it up. Fucking hell, it was heavy. And apparently stuck. He'd barely opened a tiny gap when the voices from outside caught his attention, making him freeze.

"-but he said no. And I don't know if I can do... both."

"If he's hit and I'm in bed next to him unscathed, questions will be raised!"

"But what if I if I miscalculate? What if I-"

"My darling, please. Do it for us. For our future, together." 

It was Esther and Lydia. On the porch. Barely a few feet away, on the seat to the left. Ryan stayed completely still, hands gripping the bottom of the window. He could just about see the side of Esther's head, her blonde hair moving as she spoke.

"But Esther, I-"

"I trust you. I trust you, my love. I always have."

A silence. "I know."

Ryan swallowed. He should move. He should back away. But he just couldn't bring himself to

"Those two will know something is up. They probably already do." Esther got to her feet, her shoulder coming into view. "I had no idea about the damned razor. I wouldn't have taken it otherwise."

"Brent said he was going to get it back, but when he went back to the room it was gone. Just vanished."

Brent? What the hell was going on?

Esther held out her hand, the housemaid's own hand appearing to rest in it as she got to her feet. "It will all come together in the end, my love. It always does."

"Who's a milky piggy? Me me me!" 

Ryan jumped at the sound of Shane's sudden yell, the window slipping from his fingers and slamming closed. The sound seemed impossibly loud. Then it was silent but for the giggles of the drugged-up inspector on the floor. Ryan ducked under the window, pressing himself flat against the wall, heart racing. _You idiot, Madej. You fucking idiot_. He could see the shadow of two women appear on the floor in front of him as Esther and Lydia peered in through the glass. They disappeared seconds later. Ryan scrambled towards the door, slipping and falling flat on his face as Shane grabbed hold of him as he passed.

"Hey!" Shane poked him in the face like he was a Playdough man. "I know you. I _know_ you. Milky piggy."

"Get off!" hissed Ryan, slapping at his hands. It was all okay if they found Shane passed out in here, but if they found Ryan completely sober... He couldn't see it ending well. "Get _off_ , Shane!"

The door swung open, making him freeze as the light from outside landed on him and Shane. He almost passed out with the relief.

"You seen Steven?" Helen stumbled into the room, a lazy smile plastered on her face, clearly oblivious to where she was and who she was talking to. "Small, Asian, smiley smiley-"

"Milky?" asked Shane in a serious tone.

Ryan's eyes landed on the housemaid who strode past behind Helen, her gaze locked on his. She knew now. She knew.

"How... How do you guys feel about heading home?" asked Ryan, pushing himself to his feet with such urgency he stumbled a bit. "Right now? Let's go."

 

 


	7. One step forwards, two steps back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Shane might be on to something, but Esther and Lydia are two steps ahead.

The first thing he felt was the pounding in his head. It was so painful he thought his skull might explode. The next thing he felt was the rough carpet under his hands, against the side of his face. Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes, letting the light in and sending a shooting pain through his skull. He groaned as he rolled onto his back, staring at the oddly familiar ceiling.

"Ah, you're awake."

Shane blinked, turning his head to look at the journalist seated at the desk a few feet away. "What the fuck."

"Oh, yeah. I didn't know where you lived so..." Ryan shrugged, placing the newspaper he was holding back down on the pile in front of him. "I just brought you here. I tried to sit you in a chair, but you seemed particularly fond of the floor for some reason."

His mouth was dry, as dry as cotton. "Water. I want water."

"Well go and get it then." 

Shane pushed himself to his feet, using the journalist's desk as a means of balance. "What happened. Last night. At the party."

Ryan stared at him. "You can't remember?"

"Snippets. Like you leading me on a right chase around the house." He plonked himself down on the nearest chair, resting his head in his hands. "Then... Then Esther taking the razor?"

"Yeah." Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

"...You're not the Axeman." Shane raised his head slowly, squinting at Ryan. "And _I'm_ not the Axeman."

"Good. That's good." Ryan tapped the pile of newspapers in front of him, leaning forwards. "But I think I know who might know the Axeman. Or might be the Axe _woman_."

"No no no no." Shane waved a dismissive hand at him, the other still covering his eyes from the glaring sun. "Slow down. Don't be getting involved in all this. You're a-"

"I know I'm not a cop, Shane," replied Ryan flatly. "Even though I seem to be doing your job better than you."

Shane raised his head, narrowing his eyes at the man. "I'm going to leave now. And you're going to stop chasing whatever lead you think you have."

Ryan rolled his eyes as the inspector got to his feet. "Right. Well, you're welcome for saving you from that deathtrap last night."

Shane paused at the door, turning to throw a look at him. "Deathtrap?"

"Why do you think you can't remember anything?"

The inspector paused, looking thoughtful. "Drunk?"

"No. Drugged." Ryan leaned back in his chair, resting a head on his hand. "By Esther's housemaid. Who is also her secret lover. But if you don't want me to chase any leads, I'll shut up."

Shane stood where he was, one hand on the door. "How about... you forget that I told you to shut up... and you tell me what you heard and/or saw."

"Mmm. I don't know." Ryan pulled a face, the image of despair. "You see, I'm not a cop, so I can't-"

"Come on, Ryan. My head's already pounding. I don't need this shit."

The journalist smiled at him, gesturing at the seat in front of the desk. "Sit. We have a lot to discuss."

Reluctantly, Shane did so, a flat glare on his face. "This is not an invitation for you to start... to start side-kicking. Alright?"

"Mm. Sure. Anyway, let me talk." He quickly explained the conversation he'd heard between Lydia and Esther, and how Lydia had seen him only seconds later. "Oh, and you almost got me potentially killed by shouting about a 'milky piggy', so thanks."

"Hmm." Shane had a very serious look on his face, like he was contemplating the meaning of his existence. "I do not recall any of these events. Excellent start." He crossed his legs, eyes closed as he thought. "So... So wait. Esther and Lydia were acting weird, yeah. Lydia drugged me, that's a bit weird, but okay. And they mentioned Brent, who we also saw when we were in... the library?"

"Yes," said Ryan enthusiastically, pointing at him. "Where we found all those creepy demonic books."

"But there's nothing to say that either of those women committed _murder_ , Ryan. You're jumping to conclusions."

"I'm not. Why the hell would they drug you? For fun?"

"I don't know! But you can't just assume it would be to murder me!"

"They're acting weird!"

" _You're_ acting insane!" Shane got to his feet, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to dull his headache. "Just... Just shut up for a while, okay? I've listened to your stupid theory, and I-"

"Well how about this," interrupted Ryan, picking up the pile of newspapers as he got to his feet and shoving them across the desk at Shane. "Esther Pepitone wasn't always Esther Pepitone."

Shane reluctantly accepted the newspapers, but didn't look at them. "I know she was married before, Ryan. She-"

"Four times, Shane. _Four times_."

The inspector paused, finally looking down at the papers. Each one had a wonderful wedding article within, or a gruesome murder. "Holy shit."

"Each of her husbands died in mysterious circumstances." Ryan's eyes were wide as he pointed at the papers. "Just read some! One fell off a balcony. One had a hammer fall on his head while he was gardening. They're weird, Shane. And do you want to know who's mentioned in every single article?"

Shane didn't need to guess. "Lydia."

"Lydia the enigmatic housemaid." Ryan stood with his hands on his hips, eyebrows raised. "Tell me that's not fucking crazy."

The inspector didn't reply for a moment, almost falling back down into his chair as he continued scanning the articles. "Come here. Look at these photos."

Ryan hurried around the desk to look over his shoulder, squinting at the grainy black and white wedding photos. "What? What is it I'm supposed to be looking at?"

"That's Louis Besumer and Anna Lowe," said Shane quietly, pointing at the relevant couple. He let Ryan take the paper to have a closer look, opening up the next one. "They were at this wedding too. And that's Catherine and Joseph Maggio. Fucking hell, that's Rose and Charles Cortimiglia."

Ryan stood in stunned silence at these revelations. "I don't understand. Is Esther... Is she killing them for some reason?"

"I... I don't know." Shane turned in his seat to look up at Ryan, who threw a suspicious frown at him.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You really want to be my sidekick?"

"Uh, no." Ryan snorted, going back to the paper. "You'd be the sidekick."

"I would absolutely not be- You know what, that's not important. I think you can help me with this." Shane got to his feet, folding the paper in his hand. "Louis Besumer is in prison for Anna's murder. I'm going to get him acquitted, and then I want you to talk to him. Interview him. Whatever you do for your paper." Shane used the newspaper in hand to poke Ryan in the chest. "But what's most important is you bring up Esther Pepitone and Lydia. See his reaction. Note his reaction. And then give me a call."

Ryan nodded, hurrying back around his desk to grab a pen and paper. "I'll need his address. And I'll need-"

"Mr Bergara." The receptionist had her head in the door, an excited glint in her eyes. "There's been another Axeman attack. Just this morning."

Shane and Ryan shared a wide-eyed look before simultaneously rushing for the door, pushing out past the receptionist. All of a sudden Shane whipped back around, heading back into the office to scoop up the newspapers.

"Come on, come on, hurry!" shouted Ryan as he raced down the corridor, flying down the stairs. "I parked your car outside!"

"You drove my car?! Not okay!"

 

* * *

 

 

Mrs Ed Schneider had been found by her husband with multiple strikes to the head. She was being carried out of the house on a stretcher, her pale face streaked with dark blood. Ryan and Shane stood on the front lawn in silence as she was brought past them, her eyes rolling in her head as she spouted gibberish. The inspector turned to Ryan, who held the papers in his hand.

"Open them. Open!"

"I know, I know! Look... Here!" Ryan dropped the other newspapers, turning the photo so that both he and Shane could see it. "There she is! Right beside Esther."

Shane shared a concerned look with him, taking a deep breath. "Right. Let's just-"

"Hello there, boys!"

The two men froze at the sound of the sweet voice. Ryan tucked the paper behind his back as he turned to smile at Esther, hoping he appeared casual. Shane didn't even seem to be trying, just staring at her in silence.

"Terrible what happened here, isn't it?" She sighed deeply, as if it was her who'd been murdered. "Truly tragic. If only the culprit could be found!"

"If only," said Shane, shuffling sideways to try and disguise the pile of newspapers on the floor. "What brings you here, Mrs Pepitone?"

She had her head tilted sideways, eyes narrowed at the newspapers on the grass. There was a small cut on her eyebrow. "Oh, um, yes, of course. Lydia, darling!" She turned away, waving a bandaged hand at the shiny car parked across the road. 

The housemaid stepped out, once again dressed in an outfit that would be deemed more suitable for, well, someone of Esther Pepitone's status. In her arms was Shane's coat.

"Fuck," muttered the inspector.

"You left this at the party," smiled Esther as the housemaid passed the coat to Shane. "Such a wonderful celebration, wasn't it?"

The two men stared. The two women stared back.

"Yes," said Ryan eventually, clearing his throat. "Really, uh, great."

"Is this today's paper?" Lydia stepped around Shane, quickly picking up a few. "We didn't... Oh."

Shane watched her warily as she moved back to stand beside Esther, handing her the papers. He could almost feel Ryan's fear radiating off the man in waves.

"Quite a... selection you've got here." Esther's gaze flickered up to land on Ryan's, sending a shiver through him. "Very specific."

"Just some old ones that needed to be sorted," replied Ryan quickly. 

"And you brought them here because..?"

Shane closed his eyes as the silence stretched on. _Just say something, Ryan. Anything_.

"Office was getting stuffy," squeaked the journalist. 

 _Fuck's sake, Ryan_.

Esther smiled at him, a big fake grin. "How about I take them off your hands, hm?"

"I don't think that's necessary," interrupted Shane dryly. 

"And what business would it be of yours?" shot back Lydia, an eyebrow raised. 

"He's helping me," said Ryan.

"And here I was, thinking you didn't know each other," said Esther in a highly-suspicious tone. "You sure weren't acting like that last night."

"It turns out we get along like a house on fire," replied Shane. "You know how it is. Sometimes you just find someone and something just... _clicks_. I'm sure you'd understand, ladies."

Lydia and Esther stared at him in a cold silence, a look in their eyes that could butcher a cow at ten paces. Ryan reached out, taking the newspapers from Esther's hands with a friendly smile. 

"How did you come across those injuries, Mrs Pepitone?" asked Ryan lightly in an attempt to diffuse the situation. 

"Oh, have you not heard?" Esther turned her eyes to him, blinking innocently. "My husband was attacked by the Axeman this morning. I was only struck once about the head, but he's in critical condition in the hospital." She turned away, sniffing loudly. "I don't think he'll make it."

Shane stared at her, eyes wide. "I- Why wasn't I contacted?"

"We had no idea where you were," said Lydia, eyebrows raised. "You weren't at the station."

"Ah." He looked from one to the other, nodding slowly. "I see. How unfortunate."

"Truly," said Esther, turning back to face them with a flourish. "Brent Bennett was assigned to look over the crime scene in your absence, Inspector. It was truly awful. A tall thin man took the ax from my garden shed and struck my husband eighteen times! Oh, woe is me!"

"We had best return to the hospital, Esther." Lydia took her by the arm, giving Shane and Ryan a cool smile. "Good day, sirs."

They waited until the car had pulled away before letting their questions burst forth.

"How were there two Axeman attacks in one morning?" asked Ryan, spinning to look at the taller man. "On completely different sides of town!"

"And what type of wife acts so chill about her husband dying?!"

"A wife whose had multiple husbands die on her!" Ryan hugged the newspapers to him to stop them flying away, pacing back across the road towards Shane's car. "Come on, let's go!"

"Ah-ah! Hold on." Shane grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him to face him. "I can't just bail on this crime scene, man. Brent is heading the one in the Pepitone's, remember?"

"Well, I can go," shrugged Ryan. "So... Bye."

"Wait wait wait." Shane circled him, placing a hand on his chest to stop him walking forwards. "First of all, that's my car, which I am not giving you permission to drive. Oh, don't act as if that's unreasonable, Ryan. And also, you told me you'd talk to Louis Besumer for me."

"But he's not acquitted yet," replied Ryan with a scowl. "You said you'd-"

"There's no time for that now! Just go to him in the jail, okay?"

Ryan gave him an unimpressed look. "You want me to wander into the local jail to interview someone."

"You have no problem with wandering onto crime scenes and stealing evidence," replied Shane lightly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let me know when you're done, yeah?"

Ryan watched him stroll away, pouting like a spoiled child. "Well, can I use your car?"

"Absolutely not. Good luck!"

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan sat in his car for a while outside the prison, looking through the notepad in his hand. Louis Besumer still insisted he was innocent, which Ryan also believed. Besumer said he saw a tall white man attack them, but he hadn't heard him come in, and hadn't seen his face properly. And when Ryan had brought up Esther and Lydia, well... Louis had looked almost afraid.

"I knew Esther's last husband, Timothy. He was a nice man, until... towards the end. He started acting paranoid. He'd leave the room if that housemaid entered, the one practically glued to Esther's hip." Louis had dropped his voice to a whisper, eyes wide. "There was something up with that one. With the two of them. I... I think they were... _lovers_. They spent so much time together, in secret, and even at Mike and Esther's wedding I saw them dancing together in the kitchen."

Ryan nodded, scribbling it down urgently. "Do you know if anyone else knew this?"

"I... Yes. Charles knew. Charles Cortimiglia. He was good friends with Mike, and Mike had confided in him his suspicions of his wife. Mike knows something is off. And also Catherine Maggio, she told me she saw Lydia and Esther holding hands during a walk in the Pepitone's back garden. There were a few others I think. The Schneiders. Also, the Pepitone's old gardener, but I can't remember his name." Louis leaned across the prison table, eyebrows raised. "Now, I have no problem with two women being romantically involved, sir, I don't. Charles did, and he threatened to tell Mike. And then, bang, he's killed."

Ryan stared at him, pressing the pen against the paper in order to stop his hand from shaking. "And did you?"

"Hm?"

"Did you ever threaten to tell Mike? Or Timothy?"

Louis nodded slowly. "I did. As I said, I have no issue with two women being together. It's their business. But Timothy was my friend, and he was being cheated on right under his own nose. I couldn't stand back and let it happen. And now it's the same with Mike. At the beginning, I hadn't said anything, because Mike's tough, y'know? He'l be able to handle it once he finds out. Once I'm out of here, I'm gonna tell him. First thing."

Ryan swallowed, dropping his gaze. "Mike... Mike was killed. This morning."

He'd left the room while prison guards escorted a hysterical Louis Besumer back to his cell. 

Ryan stared out the window of his car at the prison, resting his head in his hand. Mike Pepitone was 'tough'? He hadn't looked like a strong man when he'd glimpsed him at the party. He'd looked... old. Stressed. Paranoid, in all honesty. And it turns out he was right to have been.

It was becoming clear now. Esther Pepitone has been killing her husbands once they found out about her and Lydia. It wasn't debatable. Even Shane wouldn't be able to argue with him. But it wasn't her doing the murdering, so who was it?

He drove back to find the path outside the station crowded with people, the chattering loud, urgent. He parked on the curb, stepping out. Moving through the crowd, he kept his head raised, watching the front of the station. He had a horrible feeling, right in his chest. And he was right to.

"Ryan!" Shane was being escorted to the prison van waiting outside, his hands cuffed behind his back. "Ryan, tell them I didn't do it! I didn't kill Mike!"

What the fuck was happening? Ryan pushed through the crowd, breaking through the front. Police pushed him back. He was to stunned to fight them, his mouth hanging open as Shane was brought past him.

"Ryan, wake the fuck up, you idiot!" shouted Shane over the crowd, eyes wide in desperation. "Say something! Help me!"

"I-" His eyes landed on the two women standing in the crowd opposite, one openly smirking, the other with a more guarded face. The smirking one raised a bandaged hand to tuck her blonde hair behind her ear. _Evil bitches_. "He's innocent! He didn't do it!" He pushed at the police, leaning over the barrier to stare after Shane. "Let him go! He's innocent! He didn't do it, I can swear!"

"Help me, Ryan!"

The journalist grabbed at Superintendent Rubin as she trudged past, looking way too hungover for this shit. "Sara! Sara, I can prove it wasn't him!"

She blinked at him, eyebrows raised. "Can you?"

"I..." He paused, feeling the stares of Lydia and Esther still pinned to him. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as he realized he had absolutely no proof. "No. I can't."

The prison van rumbled off down the road Ryan had come up. The crowd dissipated. And Ryan stood on the pavement alone, staring down the road.

"Such a shock, isn't it?" Esther placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "To have the lead investigator of the murders be the murderer! Well, he is a stranger from out of town, I suppose."

He had to stop himself from pushing her away, her hand almost burning on his shoulder. "You did this."

"Whatever do you mean?" She appeared in his line of sight, an angelic image. "My dear husband is on his deathbed, and you believe I did it? I saw a tall thin white man hit me and my dear Mike, and I'm certain it was Shane Madej!"

"I know it's you," replied Ryan quietly, finally turning his eyes to her. "So stop acting stupid."

"Careful, sir." Lydia's voice floated over his shoulder, dangerously close to his ear. "The lady cannot be under such stress at a time like this. Good day."

They crossed the road together, in step, like two peas in a pod. Ryan stood in silence for a few moments before snapping out of it, rushing to his car and yanking open the door. He had to go to Shane. He had to prove his innocence, one way or another. 

 


	8. Joseph Mumfre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is not as it seems

They probably wouldn’t have let Ryan see him if it wasn’t for his connections with the police. They let him slip into the prison, through damp hallways, all the way to Shane’s cell.

“Ryan! Holy fuck, it’s you!” Shane moved to the bars, gripping them tightly. “It wasn’t me. I swear to God it wasn’t me!”

“I know." Ryan glanced at the cop who'd let him in, watching him disappear down the corridor. "I know, just… How did they get you in here? What evidence could they possibly have had?” 

“Witness testimonies,” replied Shane dryly. “I was acting 'strange'. Esther and Lydia saw me attack the poor innocent editor of the Times-Picayune twice. People say I was being ‘standoffish’. And guess what? I can’t remember shit from the early hours of the morning because I was fucking drugged. That’s why they did it. That’s why they drugged me!”

“Shh, hold on, Shane. Let me think. Do they have the exact hours of the killing?” Ryan whipped out a small notepad and pen, resting it against the bars as he popped the lid off the pen. “Because I got you out of there. And Helen was there when we left! Remember?”

“Yeah, but they won’t take her testimony seriously because she was absolutely shitfaced.” Shane closed his eyes, resting his head against the bars. “If… If they get away with this, I’m done for.”

“No, no, wait. It’s not that serious yet, you’ve only been in a few hours.”

“Things can escalate very quickly, Ryan. Quicker than you could even understand.” Shane glanced up and down the hall, dropping his voice to a low whisper. “You need to do me a favor. A big, _big_ favor. I only have three people I know in this town. You, Sara, and Joseph Mumfre.”

“Joseph Mumfre?” Ryan paused in his scribbling of what he could remember, throwing him a frown. “I’ve heard of him. I think.”

“Yeah. Yeah, probably not for good reasons. He… He ruins a blackmail group.”

“How do you-”

“Don’t ask. Just get him. He lives on Dourgenois, number 6. Tell him about Esther and Lydia. But most importantly, tell him that Esther is rich. Mega-bucks. That’ll get him.”

“What? Why?" Ryan gave him a curious look. "What’re you planning, Shane?”

“A war, Ryan. You think I’m going to go to Old Sparky with no resistance?” He snorted. “Hell no. But you’re my lifeline here, Ryan. You need to help me.”

“I…" He nodded. "Yeah. Okay.”

“I need you to get me witnesses. Anyone that can say I wasn’t at the Pepitone’s during the murder. And I need you to be my number one witness.”

UH oh. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Explain it to them. Why I was chasing you. And the razor from the Maggio murders, how it’s Esther’s. The conversation between Lydia and Esther. Everything.”

“But… But they’ll kill me,” whispered Ryan back, eyes wide. “They’ll straight up murder me.”

“They’ll probably do it anyway, Ryan! C’mon, man.” He gave him a serious look, pointing at him through the bars. “And try and get Sara, not Brent.”

“Why not Brent?”

“I don’t know yet. But I don’t trust him. He’s acting strange.”

“That might be a bit difficult, Shane. Sara’s the superintendent.”

“You need to pull out all the stops here, Ryan. Or else I’m fucked.” 

They stepped apart as the door at the end of the hall swung open, revealing Brent, and behind him, the two ladies. For a moment, the three just stared at Ryan and Shane, almost as if in shock.

“I thought I was to be the first to visit him,” snapped Esther, throwing a dark look at Brent. “To confirm my identification.”

Brent glanced at her, then at the two men. “I- I wasn’t aware Ryan was let in.” 

Shane rested against the bar, casually holding them. "What's with the long faces, hm? It's just the editor of the Times-Picayune who has voluntarily come to see me despite the fact that I attacked him twice at your house, Mrs Pepitone. Or is it Miss Pepitone now? I expect it won't be Pepitone at all pretty soon."

She stared at him in stunned silence at his blatant words. "I- You killed my husband and I'll get you for it, if it's the last thing I do!"

Lydia suddenly stepped through to the front of the small group, holding a hand out to Ryan. "Notepad."

He stared at her, closing the notepad over. "My notepad."

"Hand it over."

"No."

Brent stepped around the woman, moving towards Ryan. "Give it, Ryan."

"What? No!" He backed up against the bars of Shane's cell, feeling the iron pressing into his back. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"Back off, Bennett!" snapped Shane, looming behind Ryan, a human warning sign. "And you too, you little- Ryan, pass it to me!"

Ryan pushed Lydia's hands away, rolling around to shove the notepad through the bars. Shane swiped it, stepping out of reach, holding the notepad triumphant.

"I'd give that over here if I were you," said Esther lightly, moving into view. Brent had Ryan by the back of his collar, pressed against the bars, the journalist's hands gripping the bars in a white-knuckled grip. "Or your friend here might accidentally break his entire face."

Shane stood with the notepad in the air, not taking his eyes off Esther's. He couldn't back down right now. And if he looked at Ryan, he knew he would. He could feel the journalist's eyes pinned on him, wide with fear. 

"What's going on in here?" Sara's voice was oddly light for the situation. "Is there a party I wasn't invited to?"

The response was instantaneous. Brent released Ryan, Lydia flew back behind Esther, Shane jumped to the bars, shoving the notepad into Ryan's still-shaking hand. The superintendent paused at the door, frowning at the sudden rush of movement.

"I see our Axeman has an odd group of friends at hand," she said wryly, striding down past the empty cells towards them.

"You say that as if you don't believe he is the murderer, Ms Rubin," said Esther coolly. "Perhaps you do not believe me?"

"It's innocent until proven guilty, Ms Pepitone. Not guilty until proven innocent." Sara turned her eyes to Ryan, raising an eyebrow. "You okay there?"

He nodded quickly, stepping around her. "Yeah, I'm just late for... something."

“Ryan!" Shane gave him a meaningful look through the bars. "Stay safe.”

 

* * *

 

Joseph Mumfre's house wasn't any bigger than the others on the street.  It wasn't any smaller, either. It wasn't a different shape. Yet it was still obvious that this particular house belonged to a rich person; no chipped paint, a lavish porch, and a garden that was clearly tended to by a professional. Ryan stood in the weedless driveway, glancing back at his car longingly. He could still run, he supposed. He could still bail. Get out before Lydia appeared behind him and lopped him in half with the nearest ax. But unfortunately for him, Ryan was a kind man, and tended to keep his word.

"You alright there?"

Ryan jumped at the sound of the disembodied voice. "H-Hello?"

"You a cop?"

He finally found the owner of the voice; a pair of eyes, visible just over the railing of the porch. "Uh... no. Are you Joseph Mumfre?"

"Who's asking?"

"Shane Madej." Ryan felt a tad odd talking to the top half of a man's head. "But I'm not him. Obviously. He just sent me."

"Clearly you're not him. Bit small."

Ryan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Can I come in?"

The man finally straightened up. He was tall, almost as tall as Shane himself, with a neat suit and a neater mustache. "You can come up. But not into my house."

"Okay. Cool." Ryan ascended the wooden steps, throwing one last look at his car as he did so. "Shane needs a favor."

"I'm not doing shit for Shane Madej." Joseph Mumfre sat back down in his chair, picking up an already-lit cigar from the glass ashtray beside him. "So if that's all, you can skidaddle."

"There's money involved," said Ryan quickly. He could already see the interest spark in the man's blue eyes. "Lots of money. Do you know Esther Pepitone?"

"I know everything that's going on, sir." The man shrugged. "But I don't see how I can gain from getting involved."

Ryan moved closer to him, his voice a quiet whisper. "Esther Pepitone is in a relationship with her housemaid. She's been killing her husbands once she's been found out. And Shane is currently in jail for the murders."

Mumfre straightened up in his seat, his cigar forgotten in his hand. " _The_ Esther Pepitone? That's the one you're talking about, right?"

Ryan nodded. "You could get a hell of a lot of money off her, if you wanted to."

"Slow down." He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. "What exactly do you want me to do here? Blackmail her for what reason, exactly?"

"Say that if she doesn't give you a large sum of money of your choosing, you'll reveal her big secret." Ryan shrugged. "You run a blackmail group, right? Whatever that is, I'm sure you know what you're doing."

"But where does Shane come into it?"

"That's the compromise. If she agrees to take back her statement that Shane is the murderer, you'll back off."

"But then I don't get money."

Ryan hesitated. "Well... Well just do it as a friendly gesture then?"

Mumfre snorted, rolling his eyes. "Shane Madej isn't my friend, sir. He was a client of sorts, back in Chicago."

Ryan paused, staring at him. "A client?"

"Of sorts. He'd give me stuff about suspects that I could blackmail them with."

"Wait, what?"

"Only the innocent ones, of course." Mumfre sat back in his chair, casually picking up the newspaper resting beside him. The Times-Picayune. Huh. "The ones in jail wouldn't be that useful, would they?"

He felt cold, despite the warm breeze. "Shane provided information about innocent people so you could blackmail them."

"Mmhmm. That's right. No one ever really walked out of a Madej case innocent."

Ryan swallowed, his fists clenched by his sides. There was a painful lump in his throat. "Why."

"Oh, because he's not a cop," replied Mumfre matter-of-factly, not looking up from whatever article he was reading. "He's a... oh, I can't remember. I was blackmailing him, sure. But listen, I'll do the deed this time, only because I can just start threatening her again some time next year and get actual money then." He placed the cigar in his mouth, entirely focused on the paper now. "Lovely."

Ryan nodded slowly, turning away, unable to comprehend exactly what he'd just heard. "Just a... Just a quick question. Before I go."

"Mm?"

"Did... Did Shane ever hurt anyone?" He stood at the top of the steps, one hand resting on the railings. "Physically?"

"Like, did he kill anyone?" Mumfre shook his head. "Nah. Not that I know of."

The walk back to his car felt strangely long. Then he just sat in his car, his mind racing as fast as his heart. Shane wasn't a cop? What the fuck was he then? Why was he lying? Why was Ryan even helping him at all? He mentally shook himself, starting up the engine. He had to distract himself. He had to go to work.

* * *

 

The office was just as busy as it always was. Busier, even. The Axeman attacks were an endless source of material, and people were sure milking it. Ryan strode through the corridors, returning the cheery hellos and friendly waves thrown his way. He shut his office door firmly behind him, pulling the blind down and resting his head against it. Things were going a bit tits-up, it seemed. What the hell was Shane, if he wasn't a cop? Was he a criminal of some sort? Was he like Mumfre? If it came out that Ryan had been friendly with someone like that, he'd lose his job. He'd lose everything he'd worked so hard for. All of it.

He jumped as someone knocked out a jovial rhythm on the door. "Fucking- Hello? Yes?"

"It's Steven!" 

Ryan stepped back as the accountant hopped into the office, bringing with him a wave of sunshine and rainbows. He stood still as the accountant began blabbering about whatever gossip had been floating around the office.

"Look, Steven, I can't chat right now," he said quietly. "I- I have a really bad headache."

"Oh, tell me about it! This morning I was in bits, man! I didn't think you'd be that bad, you didn't seem that drunk." Steven laughed. "That inspector was in bits though, wasn't he? With all that milky piggy stuff. Honestly, gold."

Ryan blinked, staring at him as he continued chatting animatedly. "Wait, wait. Slow down. You heard all that?"

"You and Madej? Yeah! I was there!"

"But- But you were passed out!" Ryan ushered him to the nearest chair, sitting him down. "I saw you."

"Nah, I wasn't passed out. I was just at that stage where you're like 'woaaah! the room's spinning!' so I just had a quick lie down." Steven smiled at him. "I was just chilling, man. Why do you look so freaked?"

Ryan blinked at the man's blissful ignorance. "Did you hear me trying to get Shane to throw up?"

"Oh, yeah. That was hilarious."

"Coat. Put on your coat." Ryan gestured at him to follow him, practically running for the door. "Actually fuck the coat. You have to come down to the station with me, now!"


	9. Bang, ya dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esther gets a surprise visitor. The surprise visitor gets a surprise. Shane reveals what he really is. Ryan begins to realize that perhaps a journalist shouldn't be getting so mixed up in espionage and murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might seem a bit short, but im just settling myself back in again yeet

Shane stepped out of the shoddy jail, eyes darting around the barren car park. Nobody seemed to be there. It was a nice surprise, not having any media or nosy citizens running to see the 'Axeman' be released from prison. And it was all thanks to Ryan's accountant. Steven had apparently provided information which had proved that Shane had been drugged, and therefore made Ryan's claim that he had taken Shane, Helen and Steven home early a lot more believable. Sara had given the order to let him out, but had eventually given in to Brent's request to keep an eye on him. Esther had then threatened to have her reported if she didn't take Shane off the case. Sara had refused this. So far.

The inspector stood at the front of the jail for a moment, just thinking about the situation. Esther and Lydia had really thought the whole thing through; they got a strange man from out of town, drugged him during the party so that he'd coincidentally black out and also be unavailable the next morning to head Mike Pepitone's murder, and then simply blamed him. They were clearly smarter than he'd originally assumed. He took a deep breath. The air was light and cool, the sky full with dim grey clouds that the sun was desperately trying to break through. He turned his head at the sound of a car approaching, the familiar vehicle pulling up just in front of him. Ryan leaned over, pushing open the passenger door.

"Get in," he said, his voice devoid of any particular emotion. 

Shane gladly did so. "Thanks. I wasn't looking forwards to having to walk all the way back into town."

The journalist didn't reply, just sat, his lips pressed together in a firm line. 

"You okay?" asked Shane, raising an eyebrow at him. "You seem a bit off, man."

"What are you?"

The detective blinked at the sudden question. "Do you mean in general, or do you have any specificities?"

"If you're not a cop," said Ryan slowly, still not meeting his eyes. "What are you?"

"So you talked to Mumfre." Shane stared at him in silence for a moment before turning away. "Can we continue this conversation some other time?"

Ryan pulled into one of the parking spaces, killing the engine. "No. Tell me now."

"I told you not to ask Mumfre how he knew me," said Shane coldly, staring straight ahead. "I specifically told you not to. Because it's none of your business."

"This is very much my business as well, Shane." Ryan sounded angry, his grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "If you're- If you're some sort of _criminal_ , and I've been openly associating with you, the Times-Picayune will be dragged through the dirt." He finally met Shane's steely gaze. "You owe me an answer."

"I'm not a damn criminal, Ryan. And I don't owe you anything."

"I saved your life at Esther's."

"I'm beginning to wish you'd left me to fucking die." Shane threw him a glare. "Now can we talk about this some other time please."

"I said no."

"Ryan."

"Just answer me, Shane!" He was almost shouting now, his tone impatient. "I need to know if I'm putting anything on the line here! I need to know if anything in my life is at risk!"

Shane gave a bitter laugh, turning his head to stare straight out the window ahead. "You need to know whether to abandon me, that's what you need to know."

"Don't start putting words in my mouth, Shane."

"You know what? Fine. I'll tell you what I am." He spoke quickly, his words clipped and cold. "I'm a sleeper, Ryan. In case you don't know what that means, it means I'm an agent from an organization I'm not telling you that can be activated at any given time. More specifically, I'm an agent of influence, because of my position in the police force. Mumfre somehow found out back in Chicago and was threatening to blow my cover. Is that enough for you?"

Ryan was staring at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open slightly. "So... So you're like a spy?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

"What organization?"

"I just said I'm not telling you."

"FBI?"

"No."

"CIA?"

"Ryan."

"NSA?"

" _Ryan_."

"Fine!" The journalist rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Fine. I won't push it."

"Good! Now can we please go!" Shane pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a particularly bad headache. "This whole Axeman thing could ruin my position. If I'm demoted, what use am I gonna be? And if I'm fired?" He rested his head back against the seat, eyes closed, silent for a long moment. "Please drive, Ryan. I can feel you staring at me."

Ryan started the engine, pulling out of the car lot. "Are you active right now?"

"I can't discuss this stuff with you. I really can't."

"I just need to know if I'm in danger."

That was fair, he guessed. "Yes. I'm active."

"So am I in danger?"

Shane paused. "I don't know yet."

Ryan was quiet for a moment as they drove down the winding road towards town. "Why are you active?"

Shane hesitated. Well, he had told Ryan too much already, so why not just tell him all? "Have you noticed anything about the victims?"

"Well... They were all Esther's friends?"

"Anything else?"

Ryan thought for a moment. "No. Not really."

"They're all Italian-Americans." Shane counted out the names on his fingers. "Maggio. Cortimiglia. Schneider's maiden name was Bianchi. Even Pepitone itself is Italian-American."

Ryan gave him an expectant look. "So what does that mean, exactly?"

"I was put on Esther's case on purpose, even though I really didn't want to, and it's because there's been growing concern about mafia activity around here."

"Holy shit, dude." The journalist threw a glance at him. "And do you think it's mafia-related, what Esther's doing?"

"No. Not unless the relationship with the housemaid is a cover-up, which I highly doubt." Shane gave him a sidelong look. "If you want out of this whole thing now, I understand."

Ryan smiled flatly. "For some stupid reason, no, I don't want out."

"The stupid reason is that you're a nosy journalist." He suddenly threw a glare at him. "And speaking of journalism, I don't want any of what I said to appear in any papers. At all. Okay?"

"No shit, Shane." He returned the glare. "Even though I'm still incredibly angry at you, I won't."

"Why are you angry at me?"

"Because you lied to me, Madej!"

"Big deal, Ryan! Half of my job is lying!" He sat back in his seat, arms folded moodily across his chest. "It's not as if Im entitled to tell you the truth, anyway. We're not _friends_."

"You know what? You're right." The journalist suddenly stopped the car. "You can walk."

"Wait, what?" Shane blinked. "Why?"

"I don't give rides to strangers," replied Ryan dryly.

Shane sighed wearily. "What is this, Ryan? Do you _want_ to be friends now?"

"No! I don't know. Maybe?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I just want to be involved."

"You're insane. You're the only person I've ever met who actually wants to be involved in this shit."

"I can't back out now. I need to see how this ends."

Shane internally sighed with relief as the car started again. "Listen, man, Esther is clearly a lot more dangerous than we've been thinking."

Ryan waited for him to go on, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah? Duh."

"I..." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I don't think I'll be safe in the place I'm staying here. It's not exactly the most secure housing situation I'm in."

"So what you're saying is you need somewhere to stay?"

Shane shrugged awkwardly. "Well, yeah. I guess."

"I don't..." Ryan was silent for a moment, thinking. "You can stay with me for a few nights. I'll probably benefit from it too, after all."

"Hm?"

"Esther and Lydia know who I am, Shane. They've seen me, they know where I work, they know where I live." He threw a sidelong look at Shane, not wanting to appear like a total coward. "It'd be safer if there were two of us, right?"

"Not if one of us has an ax buried in our face."

"That's not funny, Madej!" Ryan scowled as the man beside him laughed. "Don't make me change my mind."

"No, no, it's cool." Shane was quiet for a few minutes, staring out the window. "Did Mumfre say anything else?"

"Nope. Just that he'd do it."

"That's it? He didn't ask for anything?"

"Nothing really, no." 

"Hmmm." Shane frowned as he thought, eyes narrowed. "Joseph Mumfre doesn't do something for nothing. He'll try to get something out of this."

The main street was thankfully quiet. They were outside Ryan's in minutes, the gravel crunching under the wheels as the car pulled into the parking space. Ryan killed the engine, holding the key for a minute.

"Do you ever feel bad?"

Shane glanced at him, his car door half open. "Huh?"

"About what you've done to those innocent people." Ryan looked at him. "You know, the way you'd reveal their secrets to Mumfre."

"So Mumfre told you a few more things about me, did he?" The investigator stared at him in silence, biting on his bottom lip. "Yes. Yes, I feel bad. Every single day."

Ryan turned away, pushing open his door. "Good. That's good."

* * *

"Mumfre's fucking dead."

Ryan closed the office door behind Shane, eyes wide in alarm. "He's what?!"

"Esther fucking shot him!" Shane looked pale, hands linked behind his head as he paced back and forth. "She fucking shot him on the porch of her house! Said he was trying to rob her!"

Ryan shook his head, stunned. "I- Just like that? She killed him?"

"She said he tried to get into the house to get her jewelry. She just _shot_ him, man!" " Shane took Ryan's hand, pressing something cold and heavy into it. "Don't tell anyone I gave you this. Keep it on you, okay?"

The journalist nodded, quickly tucking the gun into the back of his belt. "Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks."

"I don't know what the hell we're going to do." Shane sat on the arm of one of the chairs around Ryan's desk, running a hand through his hair, the personification of stress. "We're next. It only makes sense."

"Oh God." It was Ryan's turn to pace now, hands cupped over his mouth at he tried to stay relatively calm. "Oh God, she's going to kill us."

"Watches." He pointed at the journalist. "We'll take turns doing watches. At night. Wake the other up if anything seems strange."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." 

"And I'm not sleeping on the couch tonight."

Ryan blinked at him. "What?"

"Same room. We stay in the same room."

"But-"

"This isn't the time for a 'no homo', Ryan!" Shane got to his feet, pointing out the window. "There's a crazy woman and her crazy girlfriend out there trying to kill us! That's the homo you say no to!"

"Fine, okay!" Ryan rubbed the back of his neck, his other hand on his hip. His thoughts couldn't seem to catch up with what was happening, no matter how fast they were racing. "I can't believe this, dude. What the hell are we going to do if we can't prove her guilty of anything? Just live in fear for the rest of our fucking lives?"

Shane paused, his gaze drifting away from Ryan's as he thought. Ryan squinted at him, moving into his line of sight, waving a futile hand for his attention.

"Shane. Shane, I don't like that look on your face."

"Okay, look. Just hear me out here." He took a deep breath, hands raised as if to calm a possibly vicious animal. "We catch them."

Ryan frowned at him. "What?"

"We catch them. In the act."

"No no no no." He shook his head firmly, lips pressed together. "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, you can go and fuck yourself, sir."

"It's either that or the live in fear for eternity option!"

"You-" Ryan was speechless for a moment. "You're actually serious, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm serious." Shane sat down, gesturing for Ryan to join him, which he reluctantly did. "Look, it's actually pretty simple. We turn the lights off. We leave your back door open the tiniest amount, yeah? In comes the Axeman - or woman, or people - and they'll think we're asleep. They walk in, and bada-bing bada-boom, we pepper 'em, baby." 

"Dude." Ryan stared at him, a flat look on his face. "I've never shot a gun in my life. I don't think I'm ready to pepper anyone."

"You will if there's someone coming towards you with an ax."

"You're insane."

"I'm a genius." Shane grinned, hopping back to his feet yet again, a human Jack-in-the-box. "You said you wanted to be involved, right? Now you're involved!"

"Hey, no! You can't use my words against me!"

"But I'm a cop. That's half my job."

"Ha fucking ha, Shane." He walked with him towards the door, watching him the whole time. "If I die because of this, I'll haunt you so fucking hard, dude."

"No you won't. Because ghosts aren't real." Shane opened the door, not leaving quite yet. "This is it, Bergara. This is what you wanted to stick your nose in, and now it's good and stuck."

He rolled his eyes, trying to hide how straight-up terrified he was. "Yeah, whatever. I'll see you later."

"And then we'll see the Axe-"

"Don't." Ryan shook his head, sighing heavily. "I'm already scared enough as it is."

Shane clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin on his face, but the little flicker of fear was still evident in his eyes. "We'll be fine, Ryan. And we'll also be famous."

"I-"

"You might be writing an article on yourself soon!"

"Stop trying to get me excited for this," said Ryan wryly, ushering him out the door. "Bye."

Shane waved over his shoulder as he headed down the corridor, giving a thankful smile and nod to Steven as he did so. He didn't have time to stop and chat, however. He had a trap to plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw Joseph Mumfre was actually a real guy who tried to blackmail Esther Pepitone (who was also real) over her dead husband's money. Esther also DID actually shoot the guy irl


End file.
